THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


IN  MEMORY  OF 
HELEN  COOPER  DOUGLAS 


Tliaclcraii 


rttit  /inhnslii'd  in  tlir  "  I llifsl r<(t<(l  Loiuhm 
.Xcirs-  ,(t  III,'  lliiir  (It  hi"  (Uath 


THE  WORKS 


William  Makepeace  Thackeray 

THE  FOUR  GEORGES 


THE  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

OF  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY 

REVIEWS 

GEORGE  CRUIKSHANK 

JOHN  LEECH 


With  Portraits 


.1- 

;as 

*  )ed 

•  am 

is 

NEW  YORK 
LAMB  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


LOAN  STACK 
GIFT 


CONTENTS  t'^1'2. 

M  m  ^ 

THE   FOUR   GEORGES 

PAGE 

George    ^he   First ^ 

George  the   Second 38 

George   the   Third 69 

George  the  Fourth 106 


THE   ENGLISH    HUMOURISTS 

Swift 149 

Congreve  and  Addison 190 

Steele 229 

Prior,  Gay,  and  Pope 272 

Hogarth,  Smollett,  and  Fielding 318 

Sterne  and  Goldsmith 356 


CHARITY    AND    HUMOUR .- 

as 

)ed 
GEORGE   CRUIKSHANK im 

is 


JOHN  LEECH'S  PICTURES  OF  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER     479 


841 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Thackeray Frontispiece 

Drawn  by  George  T.  Tobin  from  a  portrait  published  in  the  Illustrated 
London  News  at  the  time  of  his  death. 


FACING    PAGE 

George  the  First 3 

George  the  Second 38 

Ave   C^sar 39 

George  the  Third 69 

Group  of  Portraits  by  Gilray 95 

A  Little  Rebel 98 

George  the  Fourth 106 

Group  of  Portraits 110 


Swift 149 

congreve 19' 

Addison 

Steele ^^ 

Gay        

•  im 

I'oPE is 

Hogarth         af 


Sterne 


356 


THE  FOUR  GEORGES 

SKETCHES  OF  MANNERS,  MORALS,  COURT 
AND    TOWN    LIFE 


as 
is 


as 

Ded 

\m 

is 


George  i 


GEORGE  THE  FIRST  7 

fearing,  simple  ways  of  Zell  appear  to  have  gone  out  of 
mode.  The  second  brother  was  constantly  visiting  Ven- 
ice, and  leading  a  jolly,  wicked  life  there.  It  was  the 
most  jovial  of  all  places  at  the  end  of  the  seventeenth 
century;  and  military  men,  after  a  campaign,  rushed 
thither,  as  the  warriors  of  the  Allies  rushed  to  Paris  in 
1814,  to  gamble,  and  rejoice,  and  partake  of  all  sorts  of 
godless  delights.  This  Prince,  then,  loving  Venice  and 
its  pleasures,  brought  Italian  singers  and  dancers  back 
with  him  to  quiet  old  Zell;  and,  worse  still,  demeaned 
himself  by  marrying  a  French  lady  of  birth  quite  infe- 
rior to  his  own— Eleanor  d'Olbreuse,  from  whom  our 
Queen  is  descended,  Eleanor  had  a  pretty  daughter, 
who  inherited  a  great  fortune,  which  inflamed  her  cousin, 
George  Louis  of  Hanover,  with  a  desire  to  marry  her; 
and  so,  with  her  beautj^  and  her  riches,  she  came  to  a 
sad  end. 

It  is  too  long  to  tell  how  the  four  sons  of  Duke  George 
divided  his  territories  amongst  them,  and  how,  finally, 
they  came  into  possession  of  the  son  of  the  youngest  of 
the  four.  In  this  generation  the  Protestant  faith  was 
very  nearly  extinguished  in  the  family:  and  then  where 
should  we  in  England  have  gone  for  a  king?  The  third 
brother  also  took  delight  in  Italy,  where  the  priests  con- 
verted him  and  his  Protestant  chaplain  too.  Mass  was 
said  in  Hanover  once  more;  and  Italian  soprani  piped 
their  Latin  rhymes  in  place  of  the  hymns  which  William 
the  Pious  and  Dr.  Luther  sang.  Louis  XIV.  gave  this 
and  other  converts  a  splendid  pension.  Crowds  of 
Frenchmen  and  brilliant  French  fashions  came  into  his 
court.  It  is  incalculable  how  much  that  royal  bigwig 
cost  Germany.  Every  prince  imitated  the  French  King, 
and  had  his  Versailles,  his  Wilhelmshohe  or  Ludwigs- 


8  THE  FOUR  GEORGES 

lust;  his  court  and  its  splendours;  his  gardens  laid  out 
with  statues;  his  fountains,  and  water-works,  and  Tri- 
tons; his  actors,  and  dancers,  and  singers,  and  fiddlers; 
his  harem,  with  its  inhabitants ;  his  diamonds  and  duchies 
for  th'ese  latter;  his  enormous  festivities,  his  gaming- 
tables, tournaments,  masquerades,  and  banquets  lasting 
a  week  long,  for  which  the  people  paid  with  their  money, 
when  the  poor  wretches  had  it ;  with  their  bodies  and  very 
blood  when  they  had  none;  being  sold  in  thousands  by 
their  lords  and  masters,  who  gaily  dealt  in  soldiers, 
staked  a  regiment  upon  the  red  at  the  gambling-table; 
swapped  a  battalion  against  a  dancing-girl's  diamond 
necklace ;  and,  as  it  were,  pocketed  their  people. 

As  one  views  Europe,  through  contemporary  books 
of  travel  in  the  early  part  of  the  last  century,  the  land- 
scape is  awful— wretched  wastes,  beggarly  and  plun- 
dered; half -burned  cottages  and  trembling  peasants 
gathering  piteous  harvests;  gangs  of  such  tramping 
along  with  bayonets  behind  them,  and  corporals  with 
canes  and  cats-of-nine-tails  to  flog  them  to  barracks.  By 
these  passes  my  lord's  gilt  carriage  floundering  through 
the  ruts,  as  he  swears  at  the  postilions,  and  toils  on  to 
the  Residenz.  Hard  by,  but  away  from  the  noise  and 
brawling  of  the  citizens  and  buyers,  is  Wilhelmslust  or 
Ludwigsruhe,  or  Monbijou,  or  Versailles— it  scarcely 
matters  which,— near  to  the  city,  shut  out  by  woods  from 
the  beggared  country,  the  enormous,  hideous,  gilded, 
monstrous  marble  palace,  where  the  Prince  is,  and  the 
Court,  and  the  trim  gardens,  and  huge  fountains,  and 
the  forest  where  the  ragged  peasants  are  beating  the 
game  in  (it  is  death  to  them  to  touch  a  feather)  ;  and  the 
jolly  hunt  sweeps  by  with  its  uniform  of  crimson  and 
gold;  and  the  Prince  gallops  ahead  puffing  his  royal 


GEORGE  THE  FIRST  9 

horn;  and  his  lords  and  mistresses  ride  after  him;  and 
the  stag  is  pulled  down ;  and  the  grand  huntsman  gives 
the  knife  in  the  midst  of  a  chorus  of  bugles ;  and  'tis  time 
the  Court  go  home  to  dinner ;  and  our  noble  traveller,  it 
may  be  the  Baron  of  Pollnitz,  or  the  Count  de  Konigs- 
marck,  or  the  excellent  Chevalier  de  Seingalt,  sees  the 
procession  gleaming  through  the  trim  avenues  of  the 
wood,  and  hastens  to  the  inn,  and  sends  his  noble  name  to 
the  marshal  of  the  Court.  Then  our  nobleman  arrays 
himself  in  green  and  gold,  or  pink  and  silver,  in  the  rich- 
est Paris  mode,  and  is  introduced  by  the  chamberlain,  and 
makes  his  bow  to  the  jolly  Prince,  and  the  gracious  Prin- 
cess; and  is  presented  to  the  chief  lords  and  ladies,  and 
then  comes  supper  and  a  bank  at  Faro,  where  he  loses  or 
wins  a  thousand  pieces  by  daylight.  If  it  is  a  German 
court,  you  may  add  not  a  little  drunkenness  to  this  pic- 
ture of  high  life ;  but  German,  or  French,  or  Spanish,  if 
you  can  see  out  of  your  palace-windows  beyond  the  trim- 
cut  forest  vistas,  misery  is  lying  outside ;  hunger  is  stalk- 
ing about  the  bare  villages,  listlessly  following  precari- 
ous husbandry ;  ploughing  stony  fields  with  starved  cat- 
tle ;  or  fearfully  taking  in  scanty  harvests.  Augustus  is 
fat  and  jolly  on  his  throne ;  he  can  knock  down  an  ox,  and 
eat  one  almost ;  his  mistress,  Aurora  von  Konigsmarck,  is 
the  loveliest,  the  wittiest  creature;  his  diamonds  are  the 
biggest  and  most  brilliant  in  the  world,  and  his  feasts  as 
splendid  as  those  of  Versailles.  As  for  Louis  the  Great, 
he  is  more  than  mortal.  Lift  up  your  glances  respect- 
fully, and  mark  him  eyeing  Madame  de  Fontanges  or 
Madame  de  Montespan  from  under  his  sublime  periwig, 
as  he  passes  through  the  great  gallery  where  Villars  and 
Vendome,  and  Berwick,  and  Bossuet,  and  Massillon  are 
waiting.      Can   Court   be   more   splendid;   nobles   and 


10  THE  FOUR  GEORGES 

knights  more  gallant  and  superb ;  ladies  more  lovely?  A 
grander  monarch,  or  a  more  miserable  starved  wretch 
than  the  peasant  his  subject,  you  cannot  look  on.  Let  us 
bear  both  these  types  in  mind,  if  we  wish  to  estimate  the 
old  society  properly.  Remember  the  glory  and  the  chiv- 
alry? Yes !  Remember  the  grace  and  beauty,  the  splen- 
dour and  lofty  politeness;  the  gallant  courtesy  of  Fon- 
tenoy,  where  the  French  line  bids  the  gentlemen  of  the 
English  guard  to  fire  first;  the  noble  constancy  of  the  old 
King  and  Villars  his  general,  who  fits  out  the  last  army 
with  the  last  crown-piece  from  the  treasury,  and  goes  to 
meet  the  enemy  and  die  or  conquer  for  France  at  Denain. 
But  round  all  that  royal  splendour  lies  a  nation  enslaved 
and  ruined:  there  are  people  robbed  of  their  rights— 
communities  laid  waste— faith,  justice,  commerce  tram- 
pled upon,  and  well-nigh  destroyed— nay,  in  the  very 
centre  of  royalty  itself,  what  horrible  stains  and  mean- 
ness, crime  and  shame!  It  is  but  to  a  silly  harlot  that 
some  of  the  noblest  gentlemen,  and  some  of  the  proud- 
est women  in  the  world,  are  bowing  down ;  it  is  the  price 
of  a  miserable  province  that  the  King  ties  in  diamonds 
round  his  mistress's  white  neck.  In  the  first  half  of  the 
last  century,  I  say,  this  is  going  on  all  Europe  over. 
Saxony  is  a  waste  as  well  as  Picardy  or  Artois ;  and  Ver- 
sailles is  only  larger  and  not  worse  than  Herrenhausen. 
It  was  the  first  Elector  of  Hanover  who  made  the  for- 
tunate match  which  bestowed  the  race  of  Hanoverian 
Sovereigns  upon  us  Britons.  Nine  years  after  Charles 
Stuart  lost  his  head,  his  niece  Sophia,  one  of  many  chil- 
dren of  another  luckless  dethroned  sovereign,  the  Elector 
Palatine,  married  Ernest  Augustus  of  Brunswick,  and 
brought  the  reversion  to  the  crown  of  the  three  kingdoms 
in  her  scanty  trousseau. 


GEORGE  THE  FIRST  11 

One  of  the  handsomest,  the  most  cheerful,  sensible, 
shrewd,  accomplished  of  women,  was  Sophia,^  daughter 
of  poor  Frederick,  the  winter  king  of  Bohemia.  The 
other  daughters  of  lovely,  unhappy  Elizabeth  Stuart 
went  off  into  the  Catholic  Church;  this  one,  luckily  for 
her  family,  remained,  I  cannot  say  faithful  to  the  Re- 
formed Religion,  but  at  least  she  adopted  no  other.  An 
agent  of  the  French  King's,  Gourville,  a  convert  him- 
self, strove  to  bring  her  and  her  husband  to  a  sense  of  the 
truth;  and  tells  us  that  he  one  day  asked  Madame  the 
Duchess  of  Hanover,  of  what  religion  her  daughter  was, 
then  a  pretty  girl  of  thirteen  years  old.  The  duchess 
replied  that  the  princess  was  of  no  religion  as  yet.  They 
were  waiting  to  know  of  what  religion  her  husband 
would  be,  Protestant  or  Catholic,  before  instructing  her ! 
And  the  Duke  of  Hanover  having  heard  all  Gourville's 
proposal,  said  that  a  change  would  be  advantageous  to 
his  house,  but  that  he  himself  was  too  old  to  change. 

This  shrewd  woman  had  such  keen  eyes  that  she  knew 
how  to  shut  them  upon  occasion,  and  was  blind  to  many 
faults  which  it  appeared  that  her  husband  the  Bishop  of 
Osnaburg  and  Duke  of  Hanover  committed.  He  loved 
to  take  his  pleasure  like  other  sovereigns— was  a  merry 
prince,  fond  of  dinner  and  the  bottle;  liked  to  go  to 
Italy,  as  his  brothers  had  done  before  him ;  and  we  read 
how  he  jovially  sold  6,700  of  his  Hanoverians  to  the 
seigniory  of  Venice.  They  went  bravely  off  to  the 
Morea,  under  command  of  Ernest's  son,  Prince  JVIax, 
and  only  1,400  of  them  ever  came  home  again.  The 
German  princes  sold  a  good  deal  of  this  kind  of  stock. 
You  may  remember  how  George  III.'s  Government 

^  The  portraits  on  the  next  page  are  from  contemporary  prints  of  this 
Princess,  before  her  marriage  and  in  her  old  age. 


12 


THE  FOUR  GEORGES 


purchased  Hessians,  and  the  use  we  made  of  them  dur- 
ing the  War  of  Independence. 

The  ducats  Duke  Ernest  got  for  his  soldiers  he  spent 
in  a  series  of  the  most  brilhant  entertainments.  Never- 
theless, the  jovial  Prince  was  economical,  and  kept  a 
steady  eye  upon  his  own  interests.  He  achieved  the  elec- 
toral dignity  for  himself:  he  married  his  eldest  son 
George  to  his  beautiful  cousin  of  Zell;  and  sending  his 
sons  out  in  command  of  armies  to  fight— now  on  this 


side,  now  on  that — he  lived  on,  taking  his  pleasure,  and 
scheming  his  schemes,  a  merry,  wise  prince  enough,  not, 
I  fear,  a  moral  prince,  of  which  kind  we  shall  have  but 
very  few  specimens  in  the  course  of  these  lectures. 

Ernest  Augustus  had  seven  children  in  all,  some  of 
whom  were  scapegraces,  and  rebelled  against  the  paren- 
tal system  of  primogeniture  and  non-division  of  prop- 


GEORGE  THE  FIRST  13 

erty  which  the  Elector  ordained.  "  Gustchen,"  the 
Electress  writes  about  her  second  son:— "Poor  Gus  is 
thrust  out,  and  his  father  will  give  him  no  more  keep.  I 
laugh  in  the  day,  and  cry  all  night  about  it;  for  I  am  a 
fool  with  my  children."  Three  of  the  six  died  fighting 
against  Turks,  Tartars,  Frenchmen.  One  of  them  con- 
spired, revolted,  fled  to  Rome,  leaving  an  agent  beliind 
him,  whose  head  was  taken  off.  The  daughter,  of  whose 
early  education  we  have  made  mention,  was  married  to 
the  Elector  of  Brandenburg,  and  so  her  religion  settled 
finally  on  the  Protestant  side. 

A  niece  of  the  Electress  Sophia— who  had  been  made 
to  change  her  religion,  and  marry  the  Duke  of  Orleans, 
brother  of  the  French  King;  a  woman  whose  honest 
heart  was  always  with  her  friends  and  dear  old  Deutsch- 
land,  though  her  fat  little  body  was  confined  at  Paris, 
or  Marly,  or  Versailles— has  left  us,  in  her  enormous 
correspondence  (part  of  which  has  been  printed  in  Ger- 
man and  French),  recollections  of  the  Electress,  and  of 
George  her  son.  Elizabeth  Charlotte  was  at  Osnaburg 
when  George  was  born  (1660).  She  narrowly  escaped 
a  whipping  for  being  in  the  way  on  that  auspicious  day. 
She  seems  not  to  have  liked  little  George,  nor  George 
grown  up;  and  represents  him  as  odiously  hard,  cold, 
and  silent.  Silent  he  may  have  been:  not  a  jolly  prince 
like  his  father  before  him,  but  a  prudent,  quiet,  selfish 
potentate,  going  his  own  way,  managing  his  own  affairs, 
and  understanding  his  own  interests  remarkably  well. 

In  his  father's  lifetime,  and  at  the  head  of  the  Han- 
over forces  of  8,000  or  10,000  men,  George  served  the 
Emperor,  on  the  Danube  against  Turks,  at  the  siege  of 
Vienna,  in  Italy,  and  on  the  Rhine.  When  he  succeeded 
to  the  Electorate,  he  handled  its  affairs  with  great  pru- 


14  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

dence  and  dexterity.  He  was  very  much  liked  by  his 
people  of  Hanover.  He  did  not  show  his  feelings  much, 
but  he  cried  heartily  on  leaving  them;  as  they  used  for 
joy  when  he  came  back.  He  showed  an  uncommon  pru- 
dence and  coolness  of  behaviour  when  he  came  into  his 
kingdom;  exhibiting  no  elation;  reasonably  doubtful 
whether  he  should  not  be  turned  out  some  day;  looking 
upon  himself  only  as  a  lodger,  and  making  the  most  of 
his  brief  tenure  of  St.  James's  and  Hampton  Court; 
plundering,  it  is  true,  somewhat,  and  dividing  amongst 
his  German  followers;  but  what  could  be  expected  of  a 
sovereign  who  at  home  could  sell  his  subjects  at  so  many 
ducats  per  head,  and  make  no  scruple  in  so  disposing  of 
them?  I  fancy  a  considerable  shrewdness,  prudence,  and 
even  moderation  in  his  ways.  The  German  Protestant 
was  a  cheaper,  and  better,  and  kinder  king  than  the 
Catholic  Stuart  in  whose  chair  he  sat,  and  so  far  loj^al  to 
England,  that  he  let  England  govern  herself. 

Having  these  lectures  in  view,  I  made  it  my  business 
to  visit  that  ugly  cradle  in  which  our  Georges  were 
nursed.  The  old  town  of  Hanover  must  look  still  pretty 
much  as  in  the  time  when  George  Louis  left  it.  The 
gardens  and  pavilions  of  Herrenhausen  are  scarce 
changed  since  the  day  when  the  stout  old  Electress  So- 
phia fell  down  in  her  last  walk  there,  preceding  but  by 
a  few  weeks  to  the  tomb  James  II.'s  daughter,  whose 
death  made  way  for  the  Brunswick  Stuarts  in  England. 

The  two  first  royal  Georges,  and  their  father,  Ernest 
Augustus,  had  quite  royal  notions  regarding  marriage; 
and  Louis  XIV.  and  Charles  II.  scarce  distinguished 
themselves  more  at  Versailles  or  St.  James's,  than  these 
German  sultans  in  their  little  city  on  the  banks  of  the 
Leine.    You  may  see  at  Herrenhausen  the  very  rustic 


GEORGE   THE    FIRST  15 

theatre  in  which  the  Platens  danced  and  performed 
masques,  and  sang  before  the  Elector  and  his  sons. 
There  are  the  very  fauns  and  dryads  of  stone  still  glim- 
mering through  the  branches,  still  grinning  and  piping 
their  ditties  of  no  tone,  as  in  the  days  when  painted 
nymphs  hung  garlands  round  them;  appeared  under 
their  leafy  arcades  with  gilt  crooks,  guiding  rams  with 
gilt  horns;  descended  from  "  machines  "  in  the  guise  of 
Diana  or  Minerva;  and  delivered  immense  allegorical 
compliments  to  the  princes  returned  home  from  the  cam- 
paign. 

That  was  a  curious  state  of  morals  and  politics  in 
Europe ;  a  queer  consequence  of  the  triumph  of  the  mon- 
archical principle.  Feudalism  was  beaten  down.  The 
nobility,  in  its  quarrels  with  the  crown,  had  pretty  well 
succumbed,  and  the  monarch  was  all  in  all.  He  became 
almost  divine:  the  proudest  and  most  ancient  gentry  of 
the  land  did  menial  service  for  him.  Who  should  carry 
Louis  XIV.'s  candle  when  he  went  to  bed?  what  prince 
of  the  blood  should  hold  the  king's  shirt  when  his  ^lost 
Christian  Majesty  changed  that  garment? — the  French 
memoirs  of  the  seventeenth  century  are  full  of  such  de- 
tails and  squabbles.  The  tradition  is  not  yet  extinct  in 
Europe.  Any  of  you  who  were  present,  as  myriads 
were,  at  that  splendid  pageant,  the  opening  of  our 
Crystal  Palace  in  London,  must  have  seen  two  noble 
lords,  great  officers  of  the  household,  with  ancient  pedi- 
grees, with  embroidered  coats,  and  stars  on  their  breasts 
and  wands  in  their  hands,  walking  backwards  for  near 
the  space  of  a  mile,  while  the  royal  procession  made  its 
progress.  Shall  we  wonder— shall  we  be  angry— shall 
we  laugh  at  these  old-world  ceremonies?  View  them  as 
you  will,  according  to  your  mood;  and  with  scorn  or 


16  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

with  respect,  or  with  anger  and  sorrow,  as  your  temper 
leads  you.  Up  goes  Gesler's  hat  upon  the  pole.  Salute 
that  symbol  of  sovereignty  with  heartfelt  awe;  or  with 
a  sulky  shrug  of  acquiescence,  or  with  a  grinning  obei- 
sance; or  with  a  stout  rebellious  No — clap  your  own 
beaver  down  on  your  pate,  and  refuse  to  doff  it  to  that 
spangled  velvet  and  flaunting  feather.  I  make  no  com- 
ment upon  the  spectators'  behaviour;  all  I  say  is,  that 
Gesler's  cap  is  still  up  in  the  market-place  of  Europe, 
and  not  a  few  folks  are  still  kneeling  to  it. 

Put  clumsy,  high  Dutch  statues  in  place  of  the  mar- 
bles of  Versailles:  fancy  Herrenhausen  waterworks  in 
place  of  those  of  Marly:  spread  the  tables  with 
Schweinskopf,  Specksuppe,  Leberkuchen,  and  the  like 
delicacies,  in  place  of  the  French  cuisine;  and  fancy 
Frau  von  Kielmansegge  dancing  with  Count  Kammer- 
junker  Quirini,  or  singing  French  songs  with  the  most 
awful  German  accent:  imagine  a  coarse  Versailles,  and 
we  have  a  Hanover  before  us.  "  I  am  now  got  into  the 
region  of  beauty,"  writes  Mary  Wortley,  from  Han- 
over in  1716;  "  all  the  women  have  literally  rosy  cheeks, 
snowy  foreheads  and  necks,  jet  eye-brows,  to  which  may 
generally  be  added  coal-black  hair.  These  perfections 
never  leave  them  to  the  day  of  their  death,  and  have  a 
very  fine  effect  by  candle-light;  but  I  could  wish  they 
were  handsome  with  a  little  variety.  They  resemble  one 
another  as  Mrs.  Salmon's  Court  of  Great  Britain,  and 
are  in  as  much  danger  of  melting  away  by  too  nearly  ap- 
proaching the  fire."  The  sly  Mary  Wortley  saw  this 
painted  seraglio  of  the  first  George  at  Hanover,  the 
year  after  his  accession  to  the  British  throne.  There 
were  great  doings  and  feasts  there.  Here  I.ady  Mary 
saw  George  II.  too.    "  I  can  tell  you,  without  flattery  or 


GEORGE  THE  FIRST  17 

partiality,"  she  says,  "  that  our  young  prince  has  all  the 
accomplishments  that  it  is  possible  to  have  at  his  age, 
with  an  air  of  sprightliness  and  understanding,  and  a 
something  so  very  engaging  in  his  behaviour  that  needs 
not  the  advantage  of  his  rank  to  appear  charming."  I 
find  elsewhere  similar  panegyrics  upon  Frederick  Prince 
of  Wales,  George  II.'s  son;  and  upon  George  HI.,  of 
course,  and  upon  George  IV.  in  an  eminent  degree.  It 
was  the  rule  to  be  dazzled  by  princes,  and  people's  eyes 
winked  quite  honestly  at  that  royal  radiance. 

The  Electoral  Court  of  Hanover  was  numerous- 
pretty  well  paid,  as  times  went;  above  all,  paid  with  a 
regularity  which  few  other  European  courts  could  boast 
of.  Perhaps  you  will  be  amused  to  know  how  the  Elec- 
toral Court  was  composed.  There  were  the  princes  of 
the  house  in  the  first  class ;  in  the  second,  the  single  field- 
marshal  of  the  army  (the  contingent  was  18,000,  Poll- 
nitz  says,  and  the  Elector  had  other  14,000  troops  in  his 
pay).  Then  follow,  in  due  order,  the  authorities  civil 
and  military,  the  working  privy  councillors,  the  generals 
of  cavalry  and  infantry,  in  the  third  class;  the  high 
chamberlain,  the  high  marshals  of  the  court,  high  mas- 
ters of  the  horse,  the  major-generals  of  cavalry  and  in- 
fantry, in  the  fourth  class;  down  to  the  majors,  the 
hof  junkers  or  pages,  the  secretaries  or  assessors,  of  the 
tenth  class,  of  whom  all  were  noble. 

We  find  the  master  of  the  horse  had  1,090  thalers  of 
pay;  the  high  chamberlain,  2,000— a  thaler  being  about 
three  shillings  of  our  money.  There  were  two  chamber- 
lains, and  one  for  the  Princess;  five  gentlemen  of  the 
chamber,  and  five  gentlemen  ushers;  eleven  pages  and 
personages  to  educate  these  young  noblemen— such  as  a 
governor,    a    preceptor,    a    fecht-meister,    or    fencing 


18  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

master,  and  a  dancing  ditto,  this  latter  with  a  handsome 
salary  of  400  thalers.  There  were  three  body  and  court 
physicians,  with  800  and  500  thalers;  a  court  barber,  600 
thalers ;  a  court  organist ;  two  musikanten ;  four  French 
fiddlers;  twelve  trumpeters,  and  a  bugler;  so  that  there 
was  plenty  of  music,  profane  and  pious,  in  Hanover. 
There  were  ten  chamber  waiters,  and  twentj^-four  lac- 
queys in  livery;  a  maitre-d'hotel,  and  attendants  of  the 
kitchen;  a  French  cook;  a  body  cook;  ten  cooks;  six 
cooks'  assistants;  two  Braten  masters,  or  masters  of  the 
roast—  (one  fancies  enormous  spits  turning  slowly,  and 
the  honest  masters  of  the  roast  beladling  the  dripping)  ; 
a  pastry-baker;  a  pie-baker;  and  finally,  three  scullions, 
at  the  modest  remuneration  of  eleven  thalers.  In  the 
sugar-chamber  there  were  four  pastrycooks  (for  the 
ladies,  no  doubt)  ;  seven  officers  in  the  wine  and  beer  cel- 
lars ;  four  bread-bakers ;  and  five  men  in  the  plate-room. 
There  were  600  horses  in  the  Serene  stables,— no  less  than 
twenty  teams  of  princely  carriage  horses,  eight  to  a 
team;  sixteen  coachmen;  fourteen  postilions;  nineteen 
ostlers;  thirteen  helps,  besides  smiths,  carriage-masters, 
horse-doctors,  and  other  attendants  of  the  stable.  The 
female  attendants  were  not  so  numerous:  I  grieve  to 
find  but  a  dozen  or  fourteen  of  them  about  the  Electoral 
premises,  and  only  two  washerwomen  for  all  the  Court. 
These  functionaries  had  not  so  much  to  do  as  in  the 
present  age.  I  own  to  finding  a  pleasure  in  these  small- 
beer  chronicles.  I  like  to  people  the  old  world,  with  its 
every-day  figures  and  inhabitants— not  so  much  with 
heroes  fighting  immense  battles  and  inspiring  repulsed 
battalions  to  engage;  or  statesmen  locked  up  in  darkling 
cabinets  and  meditating  ponderous  laws  or  dire  con- 
spiracies—as with  people  occupied  with  their  every-day 


GEORGE  THE  FIRST  19 

work  or  pleasure :  my  lord  and  lady  hunting  in  the  forest, 
or  dancing  in  the  Court,  or  bowing  to  their  Serene  High- 
nesses as  they  pass  in  to  dinner ;  John  Cook  and  his  pro- 
cession bringing  the  meal  from  the  kitchen;  the  jolly 
butlers  bearing  in  the  flagons  from  the  cellar;  the  stout 
coachman  driving  the  ponderous  gilt  waggon,  with 
eight  cream-coloured  horses  in  housings  of  scarlet  velvet 
and  morocco  leather;  a  postilion  on  the  leaders,  and  a 
pair  or  a  half-dozen  of  running  footmen  scudding  along 
by  the  side  of  the  vehicle,  with  conical  caps,  long  silver- 
headed  maces,  which  they  poised  as  they  ran,  and  splen- 
did jackets  laced  all  over  with  silver  and  gold.  I  fancy 
the  citizens'  wives  and  their  daughters  looking  out  from 
the  balconies,;  and  the  burghers  over  their  beer  and 
mumm,  rising  up,  cap  in  hand,  as  the  cavalcade  passes 
through  the  town  with  torch-bearers,  trumpeters  blowing 
their  lusty  cheeks  out,  and  squadrons  of  jack-booted 
life  guardsmen,  girt  with  shining  cuirasses,  and  bestrid- 
ing thundering  chargers,  escorting  his  Highness's  coach 
from  Hanover  to  Herrenhausen ;  or  halting,  mayhap, 
at  Madame  Platen's  country  house  of  JNIonplaisir,  which 
lies  half-way  between  the  summer-palace  and  the 
Residenz. 

In  the  good  old  times  of  which  I  am  treating,  whilst 
common  men  were  driven  off*  by  herds,  and  sold  to  fight 
the  Emperor's  enemies  on  the  Danube,  or  to  bayonet 
King  Louis's  troops  of  common  men  on  the  Rhine, 
noblemen  passed  from  court  to  court,  seeking  service 
with  one  prince  or  the  other,  and  naturally  taking  com- 
mand of  the  ignoble  vulgar  of  soldiery  which  battled 
and  died  almost  without  hope  of  promotion.  Xoble  ad- 
venturers travelled  from  court  to  court  in  search  of  em- 
ployment; not  merely  noble  males,  but  noble  females 


20  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

too;  and  if  these  latter  were  beauties,  and  obtained  the 
favourable  notice  of  princes,  they  stopped  in  the  courts, 
became  the  favourites  of  their  Serene  or  Royal  High- 
nesses ;  and  received  great  sums  of  money  and  splendid 
diamonds;  and  were  promoted  to  be  duchesses,  mar- 
chionesses, and  the  like ;  and  did  not  fall  much  in  public 
esteem  for  the  manners  in  Avhich  they  won  their  advance- 
ment. In  this  way  Mdlle.  de  Querouailles,  a  beautiful 
French  lady,  came  to  London  on  a  special  mission  of 
Louis  XIV.,  and  was  adopted  by  our  grateful  country 
and  sovereign,  and  figured  as  Duchess  of  Portsmouth. 
In  this  way  the  beautiful  Aurora  of  Konigsmarck  trav- 
elling about  found  favour  in  the  eyes  of  Augustus  of 
Saxony,  and  became  the  mother  of  Marshal  Saxe,  who 
gave  us  a  beating  at  Fontenoy;  and  in  this  manner  the 
lovely  sisters  Elizabeth  and  Melusina  of  jMeissenbach 
(who  had  actually  been  driven  out  of  Paris,  whither  they 
had  travelled  on  a  like  errand,  by  the  wise  jealousy  of 
the  female  favourite  there  in  possession)  journeyed  to 
Hanover,  and  became  favourites  of  the  serene  house 
there  reigning. 

That  beautiful  Aurora  von  Konigsmarck  and  her 
brother  are  ^vonderful  as  types  of  bygone  manners,  and 
strange  illustrations  of  the  morals  of  old  daj^s.  The 
Konigsmarcks  were  descended  from  an  ancient  noble 
family  of  Brandenburg,  a  branch  of  which  passed  into 
Sweden,  where  it  enriched  itself  and  produced  several 
mighty  men  of  valour. 

The  founder  of  the  race  was  Hans  Christof,  a  famous 
warrior  and  plunderer  of  the  Thirty  Years'  war.  One 
of  Hans'  sons.  Otto,  appeared  as  ambassador  at  the 
court  of  Louis  XIV.,  and  had  to  make  a  Swedish  speech 
at  his  reception  before  the  Most  Christian  King.    Otto 


GEORGE  THE  FIRST  21 

was  a  famous  dandy  and  warrior,  but  he  forgot  the 
speech,  and  what  do  you  think  he  did?  Far  from  being- 
disconcerted,  he  recited  a  portion  of  the  Swedish  Cate- 
chism to  his  Most  Christian  Majesty  and  his  court,  not 
one  of  whom  understood  his  hngo  with  the  exception 
of  his  own  suite,  who  had  to  keep  their  gravity  as  best 
they  might. 

Otto's  nephew,  Aurora's  elder  brother,  Carl  Johann 
of  Konigsmarck,  a  favourite  of  Charles  II.,  a  beauty,  a 
dandy,  a  warrior,  a  rascal  of  more  than  ordinary  mark, 
escaped  but  deserved  being  hanged  in  England,  for  the 
murder  of  Tom  Thynne  of  Longleat.  He  had  a  little 
brother  in  London  with  him  at  this  time: — as  great  a 
beauty,  as  great  a  dandy,  as  great  a  villain  as  his  elder. 
This  lad,  Philip  of  Konigsmarck,  also  was  implicated  in 
the  affair;  and  perhaps  it  is  a  pity  he  ever  brought  his 
pretty  neck  out  of  it.  He  went  over  to  Hanover,  and 
was  soon  appointed  colonel  of  a  regiment  of  H.  E. 
Highness's  dragoons.  In  early  life  he  had  been  page  in 
the  court  of  Celle ;  and  it  was  said  that  he  and  the  pretty 
Princess  Sophia  Dorothea,  who  by  this  time  was  married 
to  her  cousin  George  the  Electoral  Prince,  had  been  in 
love  with  each  other  as  children.  Their  loves  were  now 
to  be  renewed,  not  innocently,  and  to  come  to  a  fearful 
end. 

A  biography  of  the  wife  of  George  I.,  by  Dr.  Doran, 
has  lately  appeared,  and  I  confess  I  am  astounded  at 
the  verdict  which  that  writer  has  delivered,  and  at  his 
acquittal  of  this  most  unfortunate  lady.  That  she  had 
a  cold  selfish  libertine  of  a  husband  no  one  can  doubt; 
but  that  the  bad  husband  had  a  bad  wife  is  equally  clear. 
She  was  married  to  her  cousin  for  money  or  convenience, 
as  all  princesses  were  married.    She  was  most  beautiful, 


22  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

lively,  witty,  accomplished:  his  brutality  outraged  her: 
his  silence  and  coldness  chilled  her:  his  cruelty  insulted 
her.  No  wonder  she  did  not  love  him.  How  could  love 
be  a  part  of  the  compact  in  such  a  marriage  as  that? 
With  this  unlucky  heart  to  dispose  of,  the  poor  creature 
bestowed  it  on  Philip  of  Konigsmarck,  than  whom  a 
greater  scamp  does  not  walk  the  history  of  the  seven- 
teenth century.  A  hundred  and  eighty  years  after  the 
fellow  was  thrust  into  his  unknown  grave,  a  Swedish 
professor  lights  upon  a  box  of  letters  in  the  University 
Library  at  Upsala,  written  by  Philip  and  Dorothea  to 
each  other,  and  telling  their  miserable  story. 

The  bewitching  Konigsmarck  had  conquered  two  fe- 
male hearts  in  Hanover.  Besides  the  Electoral  Prince's 
lovely  young  wife  Sophia  Dorothea,  Philip  had  inspired 
a  passion  in  a  hideous  old  court  lady,  the  Countess  of 
Platen.  The  Princess  seems  to  have  pursued  him  with 
the  fidelity  of  many  years.  Heaps  of  letters  followed 
him  on  his  campaigns,  and  were  answered  by  the  daring 
adventurer.  The  Princess  wanted  to  fly  with  him;  to 
quit  her  odious  husband  at  any  rate.  She  besought  her 
parents  to  receive  her  back;  had  a  notion  of  taking 
refuge  in  France  and  going  over  to  the  Catholic  relig- 
ion; had  absolutely  packed  her  jewels  for  flight,  and  very 
likely  arranged  its  details  with  her  lover,  in  that  last  long 
night's  interview,  after  which  Philip  of  Konigsmarck 
was  seen  no  more. 

Konigsmarck,  inflamed  with  drink— there  is  scarcely 
any  vice  of  which,  according  to  his  own  showing,  this 
gentleman  was  not  a  practitioner— had  boasted  at  a  sup- 
per at  Dresden  of  his  intimacy  with  the  two  Hanoverian 
ladies,  not  only  with  the  Princess,  but  with  another  lady 
powerful  in  Hanover.     The  Countess  Platen,  the  old 


GEORGE  THE  FIRST  23 

favourite  of  the  Elector,  hated  the  young  Electoral 
Princess.  The  young  lady  had  a  lively  wit,  and  con- 
stantly made  fun  of  the  old  one.  The  Princess's  jokes 
were  conveyed  to  the  old  Platen  just  as  our  idle  words 
are  carried  about  at  this  present  day:  and  so  they  both 
hated  each  other. 

The  characters  in  the  tragedy,  of  which  the  curtain 
was  now  about  to  fall,  are  about  as  dark  a  set  as  eye  ever 
rested  on.  There  is  the  jolly  Prince,  shrewd,  selfish, 
scheming,  loving  his  cups  and  his  ease  ( I  think  his  good- 
humour  makes  the  tragedy  but  darker)  ;  his  Princess, 
who  speaks  little  but  observes  all ;  his  old  painted  Jezebel 
of  a  mistress ;  his  son,  the  Electoral  Prince,  shrewd,  too, 
quiet,  selfish,  not  ill-humoured,  and  generally  silent,  ex- 
cept when  goaded  into  fury  by  the  intolerable  tongue  of 
his  lovely  wife;  there  is  poor  Sophia  Dorothea,  with  her 
coquetry  and  her  wrongs,  and  her  passionate  attachment 
to  her  scamp  of  a  lover,  and  her  wild  imprudences,  and 
her  mad  artifices,  and  her  insane  fidelity,  and  her  furious 
jealousy  regarding  her  husband  (though  she  loathed 
and  cheated  him),  and  her  prodigious  falsehoods;  and 
the  confidante,  of  course,  into  whose  hands  the  letters  are 
slipped;  and  there  is  Lothario,  finally,  than  whom,  as  I 
have  said,  one  can't  imagine  a  more  handsome,  wicked, 
worthless  reprobate. 

How  that  perverse  fidelity  of  passion  pursues  the 
villain!  How  madly  true  the  woman  is,  and  how  as- 
toundingly  she  lies!  She  has  bewitched  two  or  three 
persons  who  have  taken  her  up,  and  they  won't  believe 
in  her  wrong.  Like  Mary  of  Scotland,  she  finds  adher- 
ents ready  to  conspire  for  her  even  in  history,  and  people 
who  have  to  deal  with  her  are  charmed,  and  fascinated, 
and  bedevilled.     How  devotedly  Miss  Strickland  has 


24  THE   FOUR   GEORGES 

stood  by  Mary's  innocence !  Are  there  not  scores  of  la- 
dies in  this  audience  who  persist  in  it  too?  Innocent!  I 
remember  as  a  boy  how  a  great  party  persisted  in  de- 
claring Caroline  of  Brunswick  was  a  martyred  angel. 
So  was-  Helen  of  Greece  innocent.  She  never  ran  away 
with  Paris,  the  dangerous  young  Trojan.  Menelaus, 
her  husband,  illused  her;  and  there  never  was  any  siege 
of  Troy  at  all.  So  was  Bluebeard's  wife  innocent.  She 
never  peeped  into  the  closet  where  the  other  wives  were 
with  their  heads  off.  She  never  dropped  the  key,  or 
stained  it  with  blood;  and  her  brothers  were  quite  right 
in  finishing  Bluebeard,  the  cowardly  brute!  Yes,  Caro- 
line of  Brunswick. was  innocent;  and  Madame  LafFarge 
never  poisoned  her  husband;  and  Mary  of  Scotland 
never  blew  up  hers;  and  poor  Soj)hia  Dorothea  was 
never  unfaithful;  and  Eve  never  took  the  apple — it  was 
a  cowardly  fabrication  of  the  serpent's. 

George  Louis  has  been  held  up  to  execration  as  a  mur- 
derous Bluebeard,  whereas  the  Electoral  Prince  had  no 
share  in  the  transaction  in  which  Philip  of  Konigsmarck 
was  scuffled  out  of  this  mortal  scene.  The  Prince  was 
absent  when  the  catastrophe  came.  The  Princess  has 
had  a  hundred  warnings ;  mild  hints  from  her  husband's 
parents;  grim  remonstrances  from  himself — but  took 
no  more  heed  of  this  advice  than  such  besotted  poor 
wretches  do.  On  the  night  of  Sunday,  the  1st  of  Juty, 
1694,  Konigsmarck  paid  a  long  visit  to  the  Princess,  and 
left  her  to  get  ready  for  flight.  Her  husband  was  awaj^ 
at  Berlin;  her  carriages  and  horses  were  prepared  and 
ready  for  the  elopement.  Meanwhile,  the  spies  of  Coun- 
tess Platen  had  brought  the  news  to  their  mistress.  She 
went  to  Ernest  Augustus,  and  procured  from  the 
Elector  an  order  for  the  arrest  of  the  Swede.     On  the 


GEORGE  THE  FIRST  25 

way  by  which  he  was  to  come,  four  guards  were  commis- 
sioned to  take  him.  He  strove  to  cut  his  way  through 
the  four  men,  and  wounded  more  than  one  of  them. 
They  fell  u]3on  him ;  cut  him  down ;  and,  as  he  was  lying 
wounded  on  the  ground,  the  Countess,  his  enemy,  whom 
he  had  betrayed  and  insulted,  came  out  and  beheld  him 
prostrate.  He  cursed  her  with  his  dying  lips,  and  the 
furious  woman  stamped  upon  his  mouth  with  her  heel. 
He  was  despatched  presently;  his  body  burnt  the  next 
day;  and  all  traces  of  the  man  disappeared.  The  guards 
who  killed  him  were  enjoined  silence  under  severe  penal- 
ties. The  Princess  was  reported  to  be  ill  in  her  apart- 
ments, from  which  she  was  taken  in  October  of  the  same 
year,  being  then  eight-and-twenty  years  old,  and  con- 
signed to  the  castle  of  Alilden,  where  she  remained  a 
prisoner  for  no  less  than  thirty -two  years.  A  separation 
had  been  pronounced  previously  between  her  and  her 
husband.  She  was  called  henceforth  the  "  Princess  of 
Ahlden,"  and  her  silent  husband  no  more  uttered  her 
name. 

Four  years  after  the  Konigsmarck  catastrophe, 
Ernest  Augustus,  the  first  Elector  of  Hanover,  died, 
and  George  Louis,  his  son,  reigned  in  his  stead.  Sixteen 
years  he  reigned  in  Hanover,  after  which  he  became,  as 
we  know,  King  of  Great  Britain,  France,  and  Ireland, 
Defender  of  the  Faith.  The  wicked  old  Countess  Platen 
died  in  the  year  1706.  She  had  lost  her  sight,  but  never- 
theless the  legend  says  that  she  constantly  saw  Konigs- 
marck's  ghost  by  her  wicked  old  bed.  And  so  there  was 
an  end  of  her. 

In  the  year  1700,  the  little  Duke  of  Gloucester,  the 
last  of  poor  Queen  Anne's  children,  died,  and  the  folks 
of  Hanover  straightway  became  of  prodigious  import- 


26  THE   FOUR   GEORGES 

ance  in  England.  The  Electress  Sophia  was  declared 
the  next  in  succession  to  the  English  throne.  George 
Louis  was  created  Duke  of  Cambridge;  grand  deputa- 
tions were  sent  over  from  our  country  to  Deutschland ; 
but  Queen  Anne,  whose  weak  heart  hankered  after  her 
relatives  at  St.  Germains,  never  could  be  got  to  allow 
her  cousin,  the  Elector  Duke  of  Cambridge,  to  come 
and  pay  his  respects  to  her  JNIajesty,  and  take  his  seat 
in  her  House  of  Peers.  Had  the  Queen  lasted  a  month 
longer;  had  the  English  Tories  been  as  bold  and  resolute 
as  they  were  clever  and  crafty ;  had  the  Prince  whom  the 
nation  loved  and  pitied  been  equal  to  his  fortune,  George 
Louis  had  never  talked  German  in  St.  James's  Chapel 
Royal. 

When  the  crown  did  come  to  George  Louis  he  was  in 
no  hurry  about  putting  it  on.  He  waited  at  home  for 
awhile ;  took  an  affecting  farewell  of  his  dear  Hanover 
and  Herrenhausen ;  and  set  out  in  the  most  leisurely 
manner  to  ascend  "  the  throne  of  his  ancestors,"  as  he 
called  it  in  his  first  speech  to  Parliament.  He  brought 
with  him  a  compact  body  of  Germans,  whose  society  he 
loved,  and  whom  he  kept  round  the  royal  person.  He 
had  his  faithful  German  chamberlains ;  his  German  sec- 
retaries; his  negroes,  captives  of  his  bow  and  spear  in 
Turkish  wars ;  his  two  ugly,  elderly  German  favourites, 
Mesdames  of  Kielmansegge  and  Schulenberg,  whom 
he  created  respectively  Countess  of  Darlington  and 
Duchess  of  Kendal.  The  Duchess  was  tall,  and  lean 
of  stature,  and  hence  was  irreverently  nicknamed  the 
Maypole.  The  Countess  was  a  large-sized  noblewoman, 
and  this  elevated  personage  was  denominated  the  Ele- 
phant. Both  of  these  ladies  loved  Hanover  and  its  de- 
lights ;  clung  round  the  linden-trees  of  the  great  Herren- 


GEORGE  THE  FIRST  27 

hausen  avenue,  and  at  first  would  not  quit  the  place. 
Sehulenberg,  in  fact,  could  not  come  on  account  of  her 
debts ;  but  finding  the  Maypole  would  not  come,  the  Ele- 
phant packed  up  her  trunk  and  slipped  out  of  Hanover, 
unwieldy  as  she  was.  On  this  the  Maypole  straightway 
put  herself  in  motion,  and  followed  her  beloved  George 
Louis.  One  seems  to  be  speaking  of  Captain  Macheath, 
and  Polly,  and  Lucy.  The  king  we  had  selected;  the 
courtiers  who  came  in  his  train;  the  English  nobles  who 
came  to  welcome  him,  and  on  many  of  whom  the  shrewd 
old  cynic  turned  his  back — I  protest  it  is  a  wonderful 
satirical  picture.  I  am  a  citizen  waiting  at  Greenwich 
pier,  say,  and  crying  hurrah  for  King  George ;  and  yet 
I  can  scarcely  keep  my  countenance,  and  help  laughing 
at  the  enormous  absurdity  of  this  advent ! 

Here  we  are,  all  on  our  knees.  Here  is  the  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury  prostrating  himself  to  the  head  of  his 
church,  with  Kielmansegge  and  Sehulenberg  with  their 
ruddled  cheeks  grinning  behind  the  defender  of  the  faith. 
Here  is  my  Lord  Duke  of  Marlborough  kneeling  too, 
the  greatest  warrior  of  all  times ;  he  who  betrayed  King 
Wilham— betrayed  King  James  II.— betrayed  Queen 
Anne— betrayed  England  to  the  French,  the  Elector  to 
the  Pretender,  the  Pretender  to  the  Elector;  and  here 
are  my  Lords  Oxford  and  Bolingbroke,  the  latter  of 
whom  has  just  tripped  up  the  heels  of  the  former;  and 
if  a  month's  more  time  had  been  allowed  him,  would  have 
had  King  James  at  Westminster.  The  great  Whig  gen- 
tlemen made  their  bows  and  congees  with  proper  deco- 
rum and  ceremony ;  but  yonder  keen  old  schemer  knows 
the  value  of  their  loyalty.  "  Loyalty,"  he  must  think, 
"as  applied  to  me— it  is  absurd!  There  are  fifty  nearer 
heirs  to  the  throne  than  I  am.    I  am  but  an  accident,  and 


28  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

you  fine  Whig  gentlemen  take  me  for  your  own  sake, 
not  for  mine.  You  Tories  hate  me;  you  archbishop, 
smirking  on  your  knees,  and  prating  about  Heaven,  you 
know  I  don't  care  a  fig  for  your  Thirty-nine  Articles, 
and  can't  understand  a  word  of  your  stupid  sermons. 
You,  my  Lords  Bolingbroke  and  Oxford — you  know 
you  were  conspiring  against  me  a  month  ago ;  and  you, 
my  Lord  Duke  of  Marlborough — you  would  sell  me  or 
any  man  else,  if  you  found  your  advantage  in  it.  Come, 
my  good  Melusina,  come,  my  honest  Sophia,  let  us  go 
into  my  private  room,  and  have  some  oysters  and  some 
Rhine  wine,  and  some  pipes  afterwards :  let  us  make  the 
best  of  our  situation;  let  us  take  what  we  can  get,  and 
leave  these  bawling,  brawling,  lying  English  to  shout, 
and  fight,  and  cheat,  in  their  own  way!  " 

If  Swift  had  not  been  committed  to  the  statesmen  of 
the  losing  side,  what  a  fine  satirical  picture  we  might 
have  had  of  that  general  sauve  qui  i^eut  amongst  the 
Tory  party!  How  mum  the  Tories  became;  how  the 
House  of  Lords  and  House  of  Commons  chopped 
round;  and  how  decorously  the  majorities  welcomed 
King  George! 

Bolingbroke,  making  his  last  speech  in  the  House  of 
Lords,  pointed  out  the  shame  of  the  peerage,  where  sev- 
eral lords  concurred  to  condemn  in  one  general  vote  all 
that  they  had  approved  in  former  parliaments  by  many 
particular  resolutions.  And  so  their  conduct  was  shame- 
ful. St.  John  had  the  best  of  the  argument,  but  the 
worst  of  the  vote.  Bad  times  were  come  for  him.  He 
talked  philosophy,  and  professed  innocence.  He  courted 
retirement,  and  was  ready  to  meet  persecution ;  but,  hear- 
ing that  honest  Mat  Prior,  who  had  been  recalled  from 
Paris,  was  about  to  peach  regarding  the  past  transac- 


GEORGE  THE  FIRST  29 

tions,  the  philosopher  bolted,  and  took  that  magnificent 
head  of  his  out  of  the  ugly  reach  of  the  axe.  Oxford,  the 
lazy  and  good-humoured,  had  more  courage,  and  awaited 
the  storm  at  home.  He  and  Mat  Prior  both  had  lodg- 
ings in  the  Tower,  and  both  brought  their  heads  safe  out 
of  that  dangerous  menagerie.  When  Atterbury  was 
carried  off  to  the  same  den  a  few  years  afterwards,  and 
it  was  asked,  what  next  should  be  done  with  him?  "  Done 
with  him?  Ehng  him  to  the  hons,"  Cadogan  said,  Marl- 
borough's lieutenant.  But  the  British  lion  of  those  days 
did  not  care  much  for  drinking  the  blood  of  peaceful 
peers  and  poets,  or  crunching  the  bones  of  bishops. 
Only  four  men  were  executed  in  London  for  the  rebel- 
lion of  1715;  and  twenty-two  in  Lancashire.  Above  a 
thousand  taken  in  arms,  submitted  to  the  King's  mercy, 
and  petitioned  to  be  transported  to  his  Majesty's  colo- 
nies in  America.  I  have  heard  that  their  descendants 
took  the  loyalist  side  in  the  disputes  which  arose  sixty 
years  after.  It  is  pleasant  to  find  that  a  friend  of  ours, 
worthy  Dick  Steele,  was  for  letting  off  the  rebels  with 
their  lives. 

As  one  thinks  of  what  might  have  been,  how  amusing 
the  speculation  is!  We  know  how  the  doomed  Scottish 
gentlemen  came  out  at  Lord  Mar's  summons,  mounted 
the  white  cockade,  that  has  been  a  flower  of  sad  poetry 
ever  since,  and  ralhed  round  the  ill-omened  Stuart 
standard  at  Braemar.  Mar,  with  8,000  men,  and  but 
1,500  opposed  to  him,  might  have  driven  the  enemy  over 
the  Tweed,  and  taken  possession  of  the  whole  of  Scot- 
land; but  that  the  Pretender's  Duke  did  not  venture  to 
move  when  the  day  was  his  own.  Edinburgh  Castle 
might  have  been  in  King  James's  hands;  but  that  the 
men  who  were  to  escalade  it  stayed  to  drink  his  health  at 


30  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

the  tavern,  and  arrived  two  hours  too  late  at  the  rendez- 
vous under  the  castle  wall.  There  was  sympathy  enough 
in  the  town— the  projected  attack  seems  to  have  been 
known  there — Lord  Mahon  quotes  Sinclair's  account  of 
a  gentleman  not  concerned,  who  told  Sinclair,  that  he 
was  in  a  house  that  evening  where  eighteen  of  them  w^re 
drinking,  as  the  facetious  landlady  said,  "powdering 
their  hair,"  for  the  attack  on  the  castle.  Suppose  they 
had  not  stopped  to  powder  their  hair?  Edinburgh  Cas- 
tle, and  town,  and  all  Scotland  were  King  James's.  The 
north  of  England  rises,  and  marches  over  Barnet  Heath 
upon  London.  Wyndham  is  up  in  Somersetshire ;  Pack- 
ington  in  Worcestershire ;  and  Vivian  in  Cornwall.  The 
Elector  of  Hanover,  and  his  hideous  mistresses,  pack  up 
the  plate,  and  perhaps  the  crown  jewels  in  London,  and 
are  off  via  Harwich  and  Helvoetsluys,  for  dear  old 
Deutschland.  The  King— God  save  him!— lands  at 
Dover,  with  tumultuous  applause;  shouting  multitudes, 
roaring  canon,  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  weeping  tears 
of  joy,  and  all  the  bishops  kneeling  in  the  mud.  In  a  few 
years,  mass  is  said  in  St.  Paul's;  matins  and  vespers  are 
sung  in  York  Minster;  and  Dr.  Swift  is  turned  out  of  his 
stall  and  deanery  house  at  St.  Patrick's,  to  give  place  to 
Father  Dominic,  from  Salamanca.  All  these  changes 
were  possible  then,  and  once  thirty  years  afterwards— all 
this  we  might  have  had,  but  for  the  imlveris  exigui  jactu, 
that  little  toss  of  powder  for  the  hair  which  the  Scotch 
conspirators  stopped  to  take  at  the  tavern. 

You  understand  the  distinction  I  would  draw  between 
history— of  which  I  do  not  aspire  to  be  an  expounder— 
and  manners  and  life  such  as  these  sketches  vrould  de- 
scribe. The  rebellion  breaks  out  in  the  north ;  its  story  is 
before  you  in  a  hundred  volumes,  in  none  more  fairly 


GEORGE  THE  FIRST  31 

than  in  the  excellent  narrative  of  Lord  Mahon.  The 
clans  are  up  in  Scotland ;  Derwentwater,  Nithsdale  and 
Forster  are  in  arms  in  Northumberland— these  are  mat- 
ters of  history,  for  which  you  are  referred  to  the  due 
chroniclers.  The  Guards  are  set  to  watch  the  streets, 
and  prevent  the  people  wearing  white  roses.  I  read 
presently  of  a  couple  of  soldiers  almost  flogged  to  death 
for  wearing  oakboughs  in  their  hats  on  the  29th  of  May 
—another  badge  of  the  beloved  Stuarts.  It  is  with  these 
we  have  to  do,  rather  than  the  marches  and  battles  of  the 
armies  to  which  the  poor  fellows  belonged— with  states- 
men, and  how  they  looked,  and  how  they  lived,  rather 
than  with  measures  of  State,  which  belong  to  history 
alone.  For  example,  at  the  close  of  the  old  Queen's 
reign,  it  is  known  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  left  the 
kingdom— after  what  menaces,  after  what  prayers,  lies, 
bribes  offered,  taken,  refused,  accepted ;  after  what  dark 
doubling  and  tacking,  let  history,  if  she  can  or  dare,  saj''. 
The  Queen  dead;  who  so  eager  to  return  as  my  lord 
duke?  Who  shouts  God  save  the  King!  so  lustily  as  the 
great  conqueror  of  Blenheim  and  Malplaquet?  (By  the 
way,  he  will  send  over  some  more  money  for  the  Pre- 
tender yet,  on  the  sly.)  Who  lays  his  hand  on  his  blue 
ribbon,  and  lifts  his  eyes  more  gracefully  to  heaven  than 
his  hero?  He  makes  a  quasi-triumphal  entrance  into 
London,  by  Temple  Bar,  in  his  enormous  gilt  coach — 
and  the  enormous  gilt  coach  breaks  down  somewhere  by 
Chancery  Lane,  and  his  highness  is  obliged  to  get  an- 
other. There  it  is  we  have  him.  We  are  with  the  mob 
in  the  crowd,  not  with  the  great  folks  in  the  proces- 
sion. We  are  not  the  Historic  Muse,  but  her  lady- 
ship's attendant,  tale-bearer— raZ^f  de  chamhre— for 
whom  no  man  is  a  hero;  and,  as  yonder  one  steps  from 


32  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

his  carriage  to  the  next  handy  conveyance,  we  take 
the  number  of  the  hack;  we  look  all  over  at  his  stars, 
ribbons,  embroidery;  we  think  within  ourselves,  O  you 
unfathomable  schemer!  O  you  warrior  invincible!  O 
you  beautiful  smiling  Judas!  What  master  would  you 
not  kiss  or  betray?  What  traitor's  head,  blackening  on 
the  spikes  on  yonder  gate,  ever  hatched  a  tithe  of  the 
treason  which  has  worked  under  your  periwig? 

We  have  brought  our  Georges  to  London  city,  and  if 
we  would  behold  its  aspect,  may  see  it  in  Hogarth's  lively 
perspective  of  Cheapside,  or  read  of  it  in  a  hundred  con- 
temporary books  which  paint  the  manners  of  that  age. 
Our  dear  old  Spectator  looks  smiling  upon  the  streets, 
with  their  innumerable  signs,  and  describes  them  witli 
his  charming  humour.  "  Our  streets  are  filled  with  Blue 
Boars,  Black  Swans,  and  Red  Lions,  not  to  mention 
Flying  Pigs  and  Hogs  in  Armour,  with  other  creatures 
more  extraordinary  than  any  in  the  deserts  of  Africa." 
A  few  of  these  quaint  old  figures  still  remain  in  London 
town.  You  may  still  see  there,  and  over  its  old  hostel  in 
Ludgate  Hill,  the  "Belle  Sauvage"  to  whom  the  Spec- 
tator so  pleasantly  alludes  in  that  paper;  and  who  was, 
probably,  no  other  than  the  sweet  American  Pocahontas, 
who  rescued  from  death  the  daring  Captain  Smith. 
There  is  the  "Lion's  Head,"  down  whose  jaws  the  Sjjec- 
tator's  own  letters  were  passed ;  and  over  a  great  banker's 
in  Fleet  Street,  the  effigy  of  the  wallet,  which  the 
founder  of  the  firm  bore  when  he  came  into  London  a 
country  boy.  People  this  street,  so  ornamented,  with 
crowds  of  swinging  chairmen,  with  servants  bawling  to 
clear  the  way,  with  Mr.  Dean  in  his  cassock,  his  lacquey 
marching  before  him;  or  Mrs.  Dinah  in  her  sack,  trip- 
ping to  chapel,  her  footboy  carrying  her  ladyship's  great 


GEORGE  THE  FIRST  33 

prayer-book;  with  itinerant  tradesmen,  singing  their 
hundred  cries  (I  remember  forty  years  ago,  as  boy  in 
London  city,  a  score  of  cheery,  familiar  cries  that  are 
silent  now) .  Fancy  the  beaux  thronging  to  the  choco- 
late-houses, tapping  their  snuff-boxes  as  they  issue 
thence,  their  periwigs  appearing  over  the  rod  curtains. 
Fancy  Saccharissa,  beckoning  and  smiling  from  the 
upper  windows,  and  a  crowd  of  soldiers  brawling  and 
bustling  at  the  door — gentlemen  of  the  Life  Guards, 
clad  in  scarlet,  with  blue  facings,  and  laced  with  gold  at 
the  seams;  gentlemen  of  the  Horse  Grenadiers,  in  their 
caps  of  sky-blue  cloth,  with  the  garter  embroidered  on 
the  front  in  gold  and  silver;  men  of  the  Halberdiers,  in 
their  long  red  coats,  as  bluff  Harry  left  them,  with  their 
ruff  and  velvet  flat  caps.  Perhaps  the  King's  Majesty 
himself  is  going  to  St.  James's  as  we  pass.  If  he  is  going 
to  Parliament,  he  is  in  his  coach-and-eight,  surrounded 
by  his  guards  and  the  high  officers  of  his  crown.  Other- 
wise his  Majesty  only  uses  a  chair,  with  six  footmen 
walking  before,  and  six  yeomen  of  the  guard  at  the  sides 
of  the  sedan.  The  officers  in  waiting  follow  the  King  in 
coaches.    It  must  be  rather  slow  work. 

Our  Spectator  and  Tatler  are  full  of  delightful 
glimpses  of  the  town  life  of  those  days.  In  the  company 
of  that  charming  guide,  we  may  go  to  the  opera,  the  com- 
edy, the  puppet-show,  the  auction,  even  the  cockpit:  we 
can  take  boat  at  Temple  Stairs,  and  accompany  Sir 
Roger  de  Coverley  and  Mr.  Spectator  to  Spring  Gar- 
den—it will  be  called  Vauxhall  a  few  years  hence,  when 
Hogarth  will  paint  for  it.  Would  you  not  like  to  step 
back  into  the  past,  and  be  introduced  to  Mr.  Addison? 
—not  the  Right  Honourable  Joseph  Addison,  Esq., 
George  I.'s  Secretary  of  State,  but  to  the  delightful 


34  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

painter  of  contemporary  manners;  the  man  who,  when 
in  good-humour  himself,  was  the  pleasantest  companion 
in  all  England.  I  should  like  to  go  into  Lockit's  with 
him,  and  drink  a  bowl  along  with  Sir  R.  Steele  (who  has 
just  been  knighted  by  King  George,  and  who  does  not 
happen  to  have  any  money  to  pay  his  share  of  the  reck- 
oning) .  I  should  not  care  to  follow  Mr.  Addison  to  his 
secretary's  office  in  Whitehall.  There  we  get  into  poli- 
tics. Our  business  is  pleasure,  and  the  town,  and  the 
coffee-house,  and  the  theatre,  and  the  Mall.  Delightful 
Spectator!  kind  friend  of  leisure  hours!  happy  com- 
panion !  true  Christian  gentleman !  How  much  greater, 
better,  you  are  than  the  King  Mr.  Secretary  kneels  to ! 

You  can  have  foreign  testimony  about  old-world  Lon- 
don, if  you  like;  and  my  before-quoted  friend,  Charles 
Louis,  Baron  de  Pollnitz,  will  conduct  us  to  it.  "A  man 
of  sense,"  says  he,  "  or  a  fine  gentleman,  is  never  at  a  loss 
for  company  in  London,  and  this  is  the  way  the  latter 
passes  his  time.  He  rises  late,  puts  on  a  frock,  and,  leav- 
ing his  sword  at  home,  takes  his  cane,  and  goes  where  he 
pleases.  The  park  is  commonly  the  place  where  he 
walks,  because  'tis  the  Exchange  for  men  of  quality. 
'Tis  the  same  thing  as  the  Tuileries  at  Paris,  only  the 
park  has  a  certain  beauty  of  simplicity  which  cannot  be 
described.  The  grand  walk  is  called  the  Mall ;  is  full  of 
people  at  every  hour  of  the  day,  but  especially  at  morn- 
ing and  evening,  when  their  Majesties  often  walk  with 
the  royal  family,  who  are  attended  only  by  a  half-dozen 
yeomen  of  the  guard,  and  permit  all  persons  to  walk  at 
the  same  time  with  them.  The  ladies  and  gentlemen  al- 
ways appear  in  rich  dresses,  for  the  English,  who,  twenty 
years  ago,  did  not  wear  gold  lace  but  in  their  army,  are 
now  embroidered  and  bedaubed  as  much  as  the  French. 


GEORGE  THE  FIRST  35 

I  speak  of  persons  of  quality;  for  the  citizen  still  con- 
tents himself  with  a  suit  of  fine  cloth,  a  good  hat  and  wig, 
and  fine  linen.  Everybody  is  well  clothed  here,  and  even 
the  beggars  don't  make  so  ragged  an  appearance  as  they 
do  elsewhere."  After  our  friend,  the  man  of  quality,  has 
had  his  morning  or  undress  walk  in  the  Mall,  he  goes 
home  to  dress,  and  then  saunters  to  some  coffee-house  or 
chocolate-house  frequented  by  the  persons  he  would  see. 
"  For  'tis  a  rule  with  the  English  to  go  once  a  day  at 
least  to  houses  of  this  sort,  where  they  talk  of  business 
and  news,  read  the  papers,  and  often  look  at  one  another 
without  opening  their  lips.  And  'tis  very  well  they  are 
so  mute :  for  were  they  all  as  talkative  as  people  of  other 
nations,  the  coffee-houses  would  be  intolerable,  and  there 
would  be  no  hearing  what  one  man  said  where  they  are 
so  many.  The  chocolate-house  in  St.  James's  Street, 
where  I  go  every  morning  to  pass  away  the  time,  is  al- 
waj^s  so  full  that  a  man  can  scarce  turn  about  in  it." 

Delightful  as  London  city  was,  King  George  I.  liked 
to  be  out  of  it  as  much  as  ever  he  could ;  and  when  there, 
passed  all  his  time  with  his  Germans.  It  was  with  them 
as  with  Blucher,  100  years  afterwards,  when  the  bold  old 
Reiter  looked  down  from  St.  Paul's,  and  sighed  out, 
"  Was  fiir  Plunder!  "  The  German  women  plundered; 
the  German  secretaries  plundered;  the  German  cooks 
and  intendants  plundered;  even  Mustapha  and  Ma- 
homet, the  German  negroes,  had  a  share  of  the  booty. 
Take  what  you  can  get,  was  the  old  monarch's  maxim. 
He  was  not  a  lofty  monarch,  certainly:  he  was  not  a 
patron  of  the  fine  arts :  but  he  was  not  a  hypocrite,  he  was 
not  revengeful,  he  was  not  extravagant.  Though  a  des- 
pot in  Hanover,  he  was  a  moderate  ruler  in  England. 
His  aim  was  to  leave  it  to  itself  as  much  as  possible,  and 


36  THE   FOUR   GEORGES 

to  live  out  of  it  as  much  as  he  could.  His  heart  was  in 
Hanover.  When  taken  ill  on  his  last  journey,  as  he  was 
passing  through  Holland,  he  thrust  his  livid  head  out  of 
the  coach-window,  and  gasped  out,  "  Osnaburg,  Osna- 
burg! "  He  was  more  than  fifty  years  of  age  when  he 
came  amongst  us:  we  took  him  because  we  wanted  him, 
because  he  served  our  turn;  we  laughed  at  his  uncouth 
German  ways,  and  sneered  at  him.  He  took  our  loyalty 
for  what  it  was  worth;  laid  hands  on  what  money  he 
could ;  kept  us  assuredly  from  Popery  and  wooden  shoes. 
I,  for  one,  would  have  been  on  his  side  in  those  days. 
Cynical,  and  selfish,  as  he  was,  he  was  better  than  a  king 
out  of  St.  Germains  with  the  French  King's  orders  in  his 
pocket,  and  a  swarm  of  Jesuits  in  his  train. 

The  Fates  are  supposed  to  interest  themselves  about 
royal  personages ;  and  so  this  one  had  omens  and  prophe- 
cies specially  regarding  him.  He  was  said  to  be  much 
disturbed  at  a  prophecy  that  he  should  die  very  soon 
after  his  wife;  and  sure  enough,  pallid  Death,  having 
seized  upon  the  luckless  Princess  in  her  castle  of  Alilden, 
presently  pounced  upon  H.  M.  King  George  I.,  in  his 
travelling  chariot,  on  the  Hanover  road.  What  postilion 
can  outride  that  pale  horseman?  It  is  said,  George 
promised  one  of  his  left-handed  widows  to  come  to  her 
after  death,  if  leave  were  granted  to  him  to  revisit  the 
glimpses  of  the  moon ;  and  soon  after  his  demise,  a  great 
raven  actually  flying  or  hopping  in  at  the  Duchess  of 
Kendal's  window  at  Twickenham,  she  chose  to  imagine 
the  king's  spirit  inliabited  these  plumes,  and  took  special 
care  of  her  sable  visitor.  Affecting  metempsychosis— 
funereal  royal  bird!  How  pathetic  is  the  idea  of  the 
Duchess  weeping  over  it!  When  this  chaste  addition  to 
our  English  aristocracy  died,  all  her  jewels,  her  plate, 


GEORGE  THE  FIRST  37 

her  plunder  went  over  to  her  relations  in  Hanover.  I 
wonder  whether  her  heirs  took  the  bird,  and  whether  it  is 
still  flapping  its  wings  over  Herrenhausen? 

The  days  are  over  in  England  of  that  strange  religion 
of  king-worship,  when  priests  flattered  princes  in  the 
Temple  of  God ;  when  servility  was  held  to  be  ennobling 
duty ;  when  beauty  and  youth  tried  eagerly  for  royal  fa- 
vour; and  woman's  shame  was  held  to  be  no  dishonour. 
Mended  morals  and  mended  manners  in  courts  and  peo- 
ple, are  among  the  priceless  consequences  of  the  freedom 
which  George  I.  came  to  rescue  and  secure.  He  kept  his 
compact  with  his  Enghsh  subjects;  and  if  he  escaped  no 
more  than  other  men  and  monarchs  from  the  vices  of  his 
age,  at  least  we  may  thank  him  for  preserving  and  trans- 
mitting the  liberties  of  ours.  In  our  free  air,  royal  and 
humble  homes  have  alike  been  purified;  and  Truth,  the 
birthright  of  high  and  low  among  us,  which  quite  fear- 
lessly judges  our  greatest  personages,  can  only  speak 
of  them  now  in  words  of  respect  and  regard.  There  are 
stains  in  the  portrait  of  the  first  George,  and  traits  in  it 
which  none  of  us  need  admire;  but,  among  the  nobler 
features,  are  justice,  courage,  moderation— and  these 
we  may  recognize  ere  we  turn  the  picture  to  the  wall. 


GEORGE  THE  SECOND 


N  the  afternoon  of  the  14th 
of  June,  1727,  two  horse- 
men might  have  been 
perceived  galloping  along 
^  the  road  from  Chel- 
sea  to  Richmond. 
The  foremost,  cased 
in  the  jackboots  of 
the  period,  was  a 
broad  -  faced,  jolly- 
looking,  and  very 
corpulent  cavalier ; 
but,  by  the  manner  in 
which  he  urged  his  horse,  you  might  see  that  he  was  a 
bold  as  well  as  a  skilful  rider.  Indeed,  no  man  loved 
sport  better;  and  in  the  hunting-fields  of  Norfolk,  no 
squire  rode  more  boldly  after  the  fox,  or  cheered  Ring- 
wood  and  Sweettips  more  lustily,  than  he  who  now  thun- 
dered over  the  Richmond  road. 

He  speedily  reached  Richmond  Lodge,  and  asked  to 
see  the  owner  of  the  mansion.  The  mistress  of  the  house 
and  her  ladies,  to  whom  our  friend  was  admitted,  said 
he  could  not  be  introduced  to  the  master,  however  press- 
ing the  business  might  be.  The  master  was  asleep  after 
his  dinner;  he  always  slept  after  his  dinner:  and  woe  be 

38 


George  II 


GEORGE  THE  SECOND  39 

to  the  person  who  interrupted  him!  Nevertheless,  our 
stout  friend  of  the  jackboots  put  the  affrighted  ladies 
aside,  opened  the  forbidden  door  of  the  bedroom, 
wherein  upon  the  bed  lay  a  little  gentleman;  and  here 
the  eager  messenger  knelt  down  in  his  jackboots. 

He  on  the  bed  started  up,  and  with  many  oaths  and  a 
strong  German  accent  asked  who  was  there,  and  who 
dared  to  disturb  him? 

"  I  am  Sir  Robert  Walpole,"  said  the  messenger. 
The  awakened  sleeper  hated  Sir  Robert  Walpole.  "  I 
have  the  honour  to  announce  to  your  Majesty  that  your 
royal  father,  King  George  I.,  died  at  Osnaburg,  on  Sat- 
urday last,  the  10th  inst." 

"Dat  is  one  big  lie! "  roared  out  his  sacred  Majesty 
King  George  II.:  but  Sir  Robert  Walpole  stated  the 
fact,  and  from  that  day  until  three  and  thirty  years  after, 
George,  the  second  of  the  name,  ruled  over  England. 

How  the  King  made  away  with  his  father's  will  under 
the  astonished  nose  of  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury; 
how  he  was  a  choleric  little  sovereign;  how  he  shook  his 
fist  in  the  face  of  his  father's  courtiers;  how  he  kicked 
his  coat  and  wig  about  in  his  rages,  and  called  everybody 
thief,  liar,  rascal,  with  whom  he  differed:  you  will  read 
in  all  the  history  books;  and  how  he  speedily  and 
shrewdly  reconciled  himself  with  the  bold  minister,  whom 
he  had  hated  during  his  father's  life,  and  by  whom  he 
was  served  during  fifteen  years  of  his  own  with  ad- 
mirable prudence,  fidelity,  and  success.  But  for  Sir 
Robert  Walpole,  we  should  have  had  the  Pretender  back 
again.  But  for  his  obstinate  love  of  peace,  we  should 
have  had  wars,  which  the  nation  was  not  strong  enough 
nor  united  enough  to  endure.  But  for  his  resolute  coun- 
sels and  good-humoured  resistance  we  might  have  had 


40  THE  FOUR  GEORGES 

German  despots  attempting  a  Hanoverian  regimen  over 
us :  we  should  have  had  revolt,  commotion,  want,  and  tyr- 
annous misrule,  in  place  of  a  quarter  of  a  century  of 
peace,  freedom,  and  material  prosperity,  such  as  the 
country  never  enjoyed,  until  that  corrupter  of  parlia- 
ments, that  dissolute  tipsy  cynic,  that  courageous  lover 
of  peace  and  liberty,  that  great  citizen,  patriot,  and 
statesman  governed  it.  In  religion  he  was  little  better 
than  a  heathen;  cracked  ribald  jokes  at  bigwigs  and 
bishops,  and  laughed  at  High  Church  and  Low.  In  pri- 
vate life  the  old  pagan  revelled  in  the  lowest  pleasures: 
he  passed  his  Sundays  tippling  at  Richmond;  and  his 
holydays  bawling  after  dogs,  or  boozing  at  Houghton 
with  boors  over  beef  and  punch.  He  cared  for  letters 
no  more  than  his  master  did:  he  judged  human  nature  so 
meanly  that  one  is  ashamed  to  have  to  own  that  he  was 
right,  and  that  men  could  be  corrupted  by  means  so  base. 
But,  with  his  hireling  House  of  Commons,  he  defended 
liberty  for  us ;  with  his  incredulity  he  kept  Church-craft 
down.  There  were  parsons  at  Oxford  as  double-deaHng 
and  dangerous  as  any  priests  out  of  Rome,  and  he  routed 
them  both.  He  gave  Englishmen  no  conquests,  but  he 
gave  them  peace,  and  ease,  and  freedom;  the  three  per 
cents,  nearly  at  par;  and  wheat  at  five  and  six  and  twenty 
shillings  a  quarter. 

It  was  lucky  for  us  that  our  first  Georges  were  not 
more  high-minded  men;  especially  fortunate  that  they 
loved  Hanover  so  much  as  to  leave  England  to  have  her 
own  way.  Our  chief  troubles  began  when  we  got  a  king 
who  gloried  in  the  name  of  Briton,  and,  being  born  in  the 
country,  proposed  to  rule  it.  He  was  no  more  fit  to 
govern  England  than  his  grandfather  and  great-grand- 
father, who  did  not  try.    It  was  righting  itself  during 


GEORGE  THE  SECOND  41 

their  occupation.  The  dangerous,  noble  old  spirit  of 
cavalier  loyalty  was  dying  out;  the  stately  old  English 
High  Church  was  emptying  itself:  the  questions  drop- 
ping which,  on  one  side  and  the  other;— the  side  of  loy- 
alty, prerogative,  church,  and  king;— the  side  of  right, 
truth,  civil  and  religious  freedom,— had  set  generations 
of  brave  men  in  arms.  By  the  time  when  George  III. 
came  to  the  throne,  the  combat  between  loyalty  and  lib- 
erty was  come  to  an  end;  and  Charles  Edward,  old,  tipsy, 
and  childless,  was  dying  in  Italy. 

Those  who  are  curious  about  European  Court  history 
of  the  last  age  know  the  memoirs  of  the  Margravine  of 
Bayreuth,  and  what  a  Court  was  that  of  Berlin,  where 
George  II. 's  cousins  ruled  sovereign  Frederick  the 
Great's  father,  knocked  down  his  sons,  daughters,  officers 
of  state ;  he  kidnapped  big  men  all  Europe  over  to  make 
grenadiers  of:  his  feasts,  his  parades,  his  wine-parties, 
his  tobacco-parties,  are  all  described.  Jonathan  Wild 
the  Great  in  language,  pleasures,  and  behaviour,  is 
scarcely  more  delicate  than  this  German  sovereign. 
Louis  XV.,  his  life,  and  reign,  and  doings,  are  told  in  a 
thousand  French  memoirs.  Our  George  IL,at  least,  was 
not  a  worse  king  than  his  neighbours.  He  claimed  and 
took  the  royal  exemption  from  doing  right  which  sover- 
eigns assumed,  A  dull  little  man  of  low  tastes  he  ap- 
pears to  us  in  England;  yet  Hervey  tells  us  that  this 
choleric  prince  was  a  great  sentimentalist,  and  that  his 
letters — of  which  he  wrote  prodigious  quantities — were 
quite  dangerous  in  their  powers  of  fascination.  He  kept 
his  sentimentalities  for  his  Germans  and  his  queen. 
With  us  English,  he  never  chose  to  be  familiar.  He  has 
been  accused  of  avarice,  yet  he  did  not  give  much  money, 
and  did  not  leave  much  behind  him.    He  did  not  love  the 


42  THE  FOUR  GEORGES 

fine  arts,  but  he  did  not  pretend  to  love  them.  He  was 
no  more  a  hypocrite  about  rehgion  than  his  father.  He 
judged  men  by  a  low  standard;  yet,  with  such  men  as 
were  near  him,  was  he  wrong  in  judging  as  he  did?  He 
readily  detected  lying  and  flattery,  and  liars  and  flatter- 
ers were  perforce  his  companions.  Had  he  been  more 
of  a  dupe  he  might  have  been  more  amiable.  A  dismal 
experience  made  him  cynical.  No  boon  was  it  to  him  to 
be  clear-sighted,  and  see  only  selfishness  and  flattery 
round  about  him.  What  could  Walpole  tell  him  about 
his  Lords  and  Commons,  but  that  they  were  all  venal? 
Did  not  his  clergy,  his  courtiers,  bring  him  the  same 
story?  Dealing  with  men  and  women  in  his  rude,  scep- 
tical way,  he  came  to  doubt  about  honour,  male  and  fe- 
male, about  patriotism,  about  religion.  "  He  is  wild, 
but  he  fights  like  a  man,"  George  I.,  the  taciturn,  said  of 
his  son  and  successor.  Courage  George  II.  certainly 
had.  The  Electoral  Prince,  at  the  head  of  his  father's 
contingent,  had  approved  himself  a  good  and  brave  sol- 
dier under  Eugene  and  Marlborough.  At  Oudenarde 
he  specially  distinguished  himself.  At  Malplaquet  the 
other  claimant  to  the  English  throne  won  but  little  hon- 
our. There  was  always  a  question  about  James's  cour- 
age. Neither  then  in  Flanders,  nor  afterwards  in  his 
own  ancient  kingdom  of  Scotland,  did  the  luckless  Pre- 
tender show  much  resolution.  But  dapper  little  George 
had  a  famous  tough  spirit  of  his  own,  and  fought  like  a 
Trojan.  He  called  out  his  brother  of  Prussia,  with 
sword  and  pistol;  and  I  wish,  for  the  interest  of  ro- 
mancers in  general,  that  that  famous  duel  could  have 
taken  place.  The  two  sovereigns  hated  each  other  with 
all  their  might;  their  seconds  were  appointed;  the  place 
of  meeting  was  settled ;  and  the  duel  was  only  prevented 


GEORGE  THE  SECOND  43 

by  strong  representations  made  to  the  two,  of  the  Euro- 
pean laughter  which  would  have  been  caused  by  such  a 
transaction. 

Whenever  we  hear  of  dapper  George  at  war,  it  is  cer- 
tain that  he  demeaned  himself  like  a  little  man  of  valour. 
At  Dettingen  his  horse  ran  away  with  him,  and  with  dif- 
ficulty was  stopped  from  carrying  him  into  the  enemy's 
lines.  The  King,  dismounting  from  the  fiery  quad- 
ruped, said  bravely,  "  Now  I  know  I  shall  not  run 
away;  "  and  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  the  foot,  drew 
his  sword,  brandishing  it  at  the  whole  of  the  French 
army,  and  calling  out  to  his  own  men  to  come  on,  in  bad 
English,  but  with  the  most  famous  pluck  and  spirit.  In 
'45,  when  the  Pretender  was  at  Derby,  and  many  people 
began  to  look  pale,  the  King  never  lost  his  courage— not 
he.  "  Pooh!  don't  talk  to  me  that  stuff! "  he  said,  like 
a  gallant  little  prince  as  he  was,  and  never  for  one  mo- 
ment allowed  his  equanimity,  or  his  business,  or  his  pleas- 
ures, or  his  travels,  to  be  disturbed.  On  pubhc  festivals 
he  always  appeared  in  the  hat  and  coat  he  wore  on  the 
famous  day  of  Oudenarde ;  and  the  people  laughed,  but 
kindly,  at  the  odd  old  garment,  for  bravery  never  goes 
out  of  fashion. 

In  private  life  the  Prince  showed  himself  a  worthy 
descendant  of  his  father.  In  this  respect,  so  much  has 
been  said  about  the  first  George's  manners,  that  we  need 
not  enter  into  a  description  of  the  son's  German  harem. 
In  1705  he  married  a  princess  remarkable  for  beauty, 
for  cleverness,  for  learning,  for  good  temper— one  of  the 
truest  and  fondest  wives  ever  prince  was  blessed  with, 
and  who  loved  him  and  was  faithful  to  him,  and  he,  in 
his  coarse  fashion,  loved  her  to  the  last.  It  must  be  told 
to  the  honour  of  Caroline  of  Anspach,  that,  at  the  time 


44.  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

when  German  princes  thought  no  more  of  changing 
their  rehgion  than  you  of  altering  your  cap,  she  refused 
to  give  up  Protestantism  for  the  other  creed,  although  an 
archduke,  afterwards  to  be  an  emperor,  was  offered  to 
her  for  a  bridegroom.  Her  Protestant  relations  in  Ber- 
lin were  angry  at  her  rebellious  spirit;  it  was  they  who 
tried  to  convert  her  (it  is  droll  to  think  that  Frederick 
the  Great,  who  had  no  religion  at  all,  was  known  for  a 
long  time  in  England  as  the  Protestant  hero) ,  and  these 
good  Protestants  set  upon  Caroline  a  certain  Father 
Urban,  a  very  skilful  Jesuit,  and  famous  winner  of 
souls.  But  she  routed  the  Jesuit;  and  she  refused 
Charles  VI. ;  and  she  married  the  little  Electoral  Prince 
of  Hanover,  whom  she  tended  with  love,  and  with  every 
manner  of  sacrifice,  with  artful  kindness,  with  tender 
flattery,  with  entire  self-devotion,  thenceforward  until 
her  life's  end. 

When  George  I.  made  his  first  visit  to  Hanover,  his 
son  was  appointed  regent  during  the  royal  absence.  But 
this  honour  was  never  again  conferred  on  the  Prince  of 
Wales ;  he  and  his  father  fell  out  presently.  On  the  oc- 
casion of  the  christening  of  his  second  son,  a  royal  row 
took  place,  and  the  Prince,  shaking  his  fist  in  the  Duke 
of  Newcastle's  face,  called  him  a  rogue,  and  provoked 
his  august  father.  He  and  his  wife  were  turned  out  of 
St.  James's,  and  their  princely  children  taken  from 
them,  by  order  of  the  royal  head  of  the  family.  Father 
and  mother  wept  piteously  at  parting  from  their  little 
ones.  The  young  ones  sent  some  cherries,  with  their 
love,  to  papa  and  mamma ;  the  parents  watered  the  fruit 
with  tears.  They  had  no  tears  thirty-five  years  after- 
wards, when  Prince  Frederick  died— their  eldest  son, 
their  heir,  their  enemy. 


GEORGE  THE  SECOND  45 

The  King  called  his  daughter-in-law  ''cette  diahlesse 
madame  la  pincesse"  The  frequenters  of  the  latter's 
court  were  forbidden  to  appear  at  the  King's:  their 
Royal  Highnesses  going  to  Bath,  we  read  how  the  cour- 
tiers followed  them  thither,  and  paid  that  homage  in 
Somersetshire  which  was  forbidden  in  London.  That 
phrase  of  "  cette  diahlesse  madame  la  princesse"  ex- 
plains one  cause  of  the  wrath  of  her  royal  papa.  She 
was  a  very  clever  woman:  she  had  a  keen  sense  of  hu- 
mour: she  had  a  dreadful  tongue:  she  turned  into  ridi- 
cule the  antiquated  sultan  and  his  hideous  harem.  She 
wrote  savage  letters  about  him  home  to  members  of  her 
family.  So,  driven  out  from  the  royal  presence,  the 
Prince  and  Princess  set  up  for  themselves  in  Leicester 
Fields,  "  where,"  says  Walpole,  "  the  most  promising  of 
the  young  gentlemen  of  the  next  party,  and  the  prettiest 
and  liveliest  of  the  young  ladies,  formed  the  new  court." 
Besides  Leicester  House,  they  had  their  lodge  at  Rich- 
mond, frequented  by  some  of  the  pleasantest  company 
of  those  days.  There  were  the  Herveys,  and  Chester- 
field, and  little  Mr.  Pope  from  Twickenham,  and  with 
him,  sometimes,  the  savage  Dean  of  St.  Patrick's,  and 
quite  a  bevy  of  young  ladies,  whose  pretty  faces  smile  on 
us  out  of  history.  There  was  Lepell,  famous  in  ballad 
song;  and  the  saucy,  charming  Mary  Bellenden,  who 
would  have  none  of  the  Prince  of  Wales's  fine  compli- 
ments, who  folded  her  arms  across  her  breast,  and  bade 
H.R.H.  keep  off;  and  knocked  his  purse  of  guineas  into 
his  face,  and  told  him  she  was  tired  of  seeing  him  count 
them.  He  was  not  an  august  monarch,  this  Augustus. 
Walpole  tells  how,  one  night  at  the  royal  card-table,  the 
playful  princesses  pulled  a  chair  away  from  under  Lady 
Deloraine,  who,  in  revenge,  pulled  the  King's  from  un- 


46 


THE  FOUR  GEORGES 


der  him,  so  that  his  INIajesty  fell  on  the  carpet.  In  what- 
ever posture  one  sees  this  royal  George,  he  is  ludicrous 
somehow;  even  at  Dettingen,  where  he  fought  so 
bravely,  his  figure  is  absurd— calling  out  in  his  broken 


English,  and  lunging  with  his  rapier,  like  a  fencing- 
master.  In  contemporary  caricatures,  George's  son, 
"  the  Hero  of  Culloden,"  is  also  made  an  object  of  con- 
siderable fun,  as  witness  the  preceding  picture  of  him 
defeated  by  the  French  (1757)  at  Hastenbeck. 

I  refrain  to  quote  from  Walpole  regarding  George— 
for  those  charming  volumes  are  in  the  hands  of  all  who 
love  the  gossip  of  the  last  century.  Nothing  can  be 
more  cheery  than  Horace's  letters.  Fiddles  sing  all 
through  them:  wax-lights,  fine  dresses,  fine  jokes,  fine 
plate, fine  equipages, glitter  and  sparkle  there:  never  was 
such  a  brilliant,  jigging,  smirking  Vanity  Fair  as  that 
through  which  he  leads  us.  Hervey,  the  next  great  au- 
thority, is  a  darker  spirit.  About  him  there  is  something 
frightful:  a  few  years  since  his  heirs  opened  the  lid  of 


GEORGE  THE  SECOND  47 

the  Ickworth  box ;  it  was  as  if  a  Pompeii  was  opened  to 
us— the  last  century  dug  up,  with  its  temples  and  its 
games,  its  chariots,  its  public  places— lupanaria.  Wan- 
dering through  that  city  of  the  dead,  that  dreadfully 
selfish  time,  through  those  godless  intrigues  and  feasts, 
through  those  crowds,  pushing  and  eager,  and  struggHng 
—rouged,  and  lying,  and  fawning— I  have  wanted  some 
one  to  be  friends  with.  I  have  said  to  friends  conversant 
with  that  history,  "  Show  me  some  good  person  about 
that  Court;  find  me,  among  those  selfish  courtiers,  those 
dissolute,  gay  people,  some  one  being  that  I  can  love  and 
regard."  There  is  that  strutting  little  sultan  George 
II. ;  there  is  that  hunchbacked,  beetle-browed  Lord  Ches- 
terfield ;  there  is  John  Hervey,  with  his  deadly  smile,  and 
ghastly,  painted  face— I  hate  them.  There  is  Hoadly, 
cringing  from  one  bishopric  to  another:  yonder  comes 
little  Mr.  Pope,  from  Twickenham,  with  his  friend,  the 
Irish  dean,  in  his  new  cassock,  bowing  too,  but  with  rage 
flashing  from  under  his  bushy  eyebrows,  and  scorn  and 
hate  quivering  in  his  smile.  Can  you  be  fond  of  these? 
Of  Pope  I  might:  at  least  I  might  love  his  genius,  his 
wit,  his  greatness,  his  sensibility— with  a  certain  convic- 
tion that  at  some  fancied  slight,  some  sneer  which  he  im- 
agined, he  would  turn  upon  me  and  stab  me.  Can  j^ou 
trust  the  Queen?  She  is  not  of  our  order:  their  very  po- 
sition makes  kings  and  queens  lonely.  One  inscrutable 
attachment  that  inscrutable  woman  has.  To  that  she  is 
faithful,  through  all  trial,  neglect,  pain,  and  time.  Save 
her  husband,  she  really  cares  for  no  created  being.  She 
is  good  enough  to  her  children,  and  even  fond  enough 
of  them :  but  she  would  chop  them  all  up  into  little  pieces 
to  please  him.  In  her  intercourse  with  all  around  her, 
she    was    perfectly   kind,    gracious,    and    natural:    but 


48  THE   FOUR   GEORGES 

friends  may  die,  daughters  may  depart,  she  will  be  as 
perfectly  kind  and  gracious  to  the  next  set.  If  the  King 
wants  her,  she  will  smile  upon  him,  be  she  ever  so  sad; 
and  walk  with  him,  be  she  ever  so  weary;  and  laugh  at 
his  brutal  jokes,  be  she  in  ever  so  much  pain  of  body  or 
heart.  Caroline's  devotion  to  her  husband  is  a  prodigy 
to  read  of.  What  charm  had  the  little  man  ?  What  was 
there  in  those  wonderful  letters  of  thirty  pages  long, 
which  he  wrote  to  her  when  he  was  absent,  and  to  his  mis- 
tresses at  Hanover,  when  he  was  in  London  v/ith  his 
wife?  Why  did  Caroline,  the  most  lovely  and  accom- 
plished princess  of  Germany,  take  a  little  red-faced  star- 
ing princeling  for  a  husband,  and  refuse  an  emperor? 
Why,  to  her  last  hour,  did  she  love  him  so?  She  killed 
herself  because  she  loved  him  so.  She  had  the  gout,  and 
would  plunge  her  feet  in  cold  water  in  order  to  walk 
with  him.  With  the  film  of  death  over  her  eyes,  writh- 
ing in  intolerable  pain,  she  yet  had  a  livid  smile  and  a 
gentle  word  for  her  master.  You  have  read  the 
wonderful  history  of  that  death-bed?  How  she  bade 
him  marry  again,  and  the  reply  the  old  King  blubbered 
out,  "  Non,  non:  j'aurai  des  maitresses."  There  never 
was  such  a  ghastly  farce.  I  watch  the  astonishing  scene 
—I  stand  by  that  awful  bedside,  wondering  at  the  ways 
in  which  God  has  ordained  the  lives,  loves,  rewards,  suc- 
cesses, passions,  actions,  ends  of  his  creatures— and  can't 
but  laugh,  in  the  presence  of  death,  and  with  the  saddest 
heart.  In  that  often-quoted  passage  from  Lord  Her- 
vey,  in  which  the  Queen's  death-bed  is  described,  the  gro- 
tesque horror  of  the  details  surpasses  all  satire:  the 
dreadful  humour  of  the  scene  is  more  terrible  than 
Swift's  blackest  pages,  or  Fielding's  fiercest  irony.  The 
man  who  wrote  the  story  had  something  diabolical  about 


GEORGE  THE  SECOND  49 

him:  the  terrible  verses  which  Pope  wrote  respecting 
Hervey,  in  one  of  his  own  moods  of  almost  fiendish  ma- 
lignity, I  fear  are  true.  I  am  frightened  as  I  look  back 
into  the  past,  and  fancy  I  behold  that  ghastly,  beautiful 
face ;  as  I  think  of  the  Queen  writhing  on  her  death-bed, 
and  crying  out,  "  Pray! — pray!  " — of  the  royal  old  sin- 
ner by  her  side,  who  kisses  her  dead  lips  with  frantic 
grief,  and  leaves  her  to  sin  more; — of  the  bevy  of  courtly 
clergymen,  and  the  archbishop,  whose  prayers  she  re- 
jects, and  who  are  obliged  for  propriety's  sake  to  shuffle 
off  the  anxious  inquiries  of  the  public,  and  vow  that  her 
Majesty  quitted  this  life  "  in  a  heavenly  frame  of  mind." 
What  a  life!— to  what  ends  devoted!  What  a  vanity  of 
vanities!  It  is  a  theme  for  another  pulpit  than  the  lec- 
turer's. For  a  pulpit?— I  think  the  part  which  pulpits 
play  in  the  deaths  of  kings  is  the  most  ghastly  of  all  the 
ceremonial :  the  lying  eulogies,  the  blinking  of  disagree- 
able truths,  the  sickening  flatteries,  the  simulated  grief, 
the  falsehood  and  sycophancies — all  uttered  in  the  name 
of  Heaven  in  our  State  churches:  these  monstrous 
threnodies  have  been  sung  from  time  immemorial  over 
kings  and  queens,  good,  bad,  wicked,  licentious.  The 
State  parson  must  bring  out  his  commonplaces;  his  ap- 
paratus of  rhetorical  black-hangings.  Dead  king  or  live 
king,  the  clergyman  must  flatter  him— announce  his 
piety  whilst  living,  and  when  dead,  perform  the  obse- 
quies of  "our  most  religious  and  gracious  king." 

I  read  that  Lady  Yarmouth  (my  most  religious  and 
gracious  King's  favourite)  sold  a  bishopric  to  a  clergy- 
man for  5,000Z.  ( She  betted  him  5000Z.  that  he  would 
not  be  made  a  bishop,  and  he  lost,  and  paid  her. )  Was 
he  the  only  prelate  of  his  time  led  up  by  such  hands  for 
consecration?    As  I  peep  into  George  II.'s  St.  James's, 


50  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

I  see  crowds  of  cassocks  rustling  up  the  back-stairs  of 
the  ladies  of  the  Court;  stealthy  clergy  slipping  purses 
into  their  laps ;  that  godless  old  King  yawning  under  his 
canopy  in  his  Chapel  Roj^al,  as  the  chaplain  before  him 
is  discoursing.  Discoursing  about  what?— about  right- 
eousness and  judgment?  Whilst  the  chaplain  is  preach- 
ing, the  King  is  chattering  in  German  almost  as  loud  as 
the  preacher;  so  loud  that  the  clergyman— it  may  be  one 
Dr.  Young,  he  who  wrote  "Night  Thoughts,"  and  dis- 
coursed on  the  splendours  of  the  stars,  the  glories  of 
heaven,  and  utter  vanities  of  this  world— actually  burst 
out  crying  in  his  pulpit  because  the  defender  of  the  faith 
and  dispenser  of  bishoprics  would  not  listen  to  him !  No 
wonder  that  the  clergy  were  corrupt  and  indifferent 
amidst  this  indifference  and  corruption.  No  wonder 
that  sceptics  multiplied  and  morals  degenerated,  so  far 
as  they  depended  on  the  influence  of  such  a  king.  No 
wonder  that  Whitfield  cried  out  in  the  wilderness,  that 
Wesley  quitted  the  insulted  temple  to  pray  on  the  hill- 
side. I  look  with  reverence  on  those  men  at  that  time. 
Which  is  the  sublimer  spectacle— the  good  John  Wes- 
ley, surrounded  by  his  congregation  of  miners  at  the 
pit's  mouth,  or  the  Queen's  chaplains  mumbling  through 
their  morning  office  in  their  ante-room,  under  the  picture 
of  the  great  Venus,  with  the  door  opened  into  the  ad- 
joining chamber,  where  the  Queen  is  dressing,  talking 
scandal  to  Lord  Hervey,  or  uttering  sneers  at  Lady  Suf- 
folk, who  is  kneeling  with  the  basin  at  her  mistress's 
side?  I  say  I  am  scared  as  I  look  round  at  this  society — 
at  this  king,  at  these  courtiers,  at  these  politicians,  at 
these  bishops — at  this  flaunting  vice  and  levity.  Where- 
abouts in  this  Court  is  the  honest  man?  Where  is  the 
pure  person  one  may  like?    The  air  stifles  one  with  its 


GEORGE  THE  SECOND  51 

sickly  perfumes.  There  are  some  old-world  follies  and 
some  absurd  ceremonials  about  our  Court  of  the  pres- 
ent day,  which  I  laugh  at,  but  as  an  Englishman,  con- 
trasting it  with  the  past,  shall  I  not  acknowledge  the 
change  of  to-day?  As  the  mistress  of  St.  James's  passes 
me  now,  I  salute  the  sovereign,  wise,  moderate,  exem- 
plary of  hfe;  the  good  mother;  the  good  wife;  the 
accomplished  lady;  the  enlightened  friend  of  art;  the 
tender  sympathizer  in  her  people's  glories  and  sorrows. 

Of  all  the  Court  of  George  and  Caroline,  I  find  no 
one  but  Lady  Suffolk  with  whom  it  seems  pleasant  and 
kindly  to  hold  converse.  Even  the  misogynist  Croker, 
who  edited  her  letters,  loves  her,  and  has  that  regard  for 
her  with  which  her  sweet  graciousness  seems  to  have  in- 
spired almost  all  men  and  some  women  who  came  near 
her.  I  have  noted  many  little  traits  which  go  to  prove 
the  charms  of  her  character  (it  is  not  merely  because  she 
is  charming,  but  because  she  is  characteristic,  that  I  al- 
lude to  her) .  She  writes  delightfully  sober  letters.  Ad- 
dressing Mr.  Gay  at  Tunbridge  (he  was,  you  know,  a 
poet,  penniless  and  in  disgrace),  she  says:  "  The  place 
you  are  in,  has  strangely  filled  your  head  with  physicians 
and  cures ;  but,  take  my  word  for  it,  many  a  fine  lady  has 
gone  there  to  drink  the  waters  without  being  sick;  and 
many  a  man  has  complained  of  the  loss  of  his  heart,  who 
had  it  in  his  own  possession.  I  desire  you  will  keep 
yours;  for  I  shall  not  be  very  fond  of  a  friend  without 
one,  and  I  have  a  great  mind  you  should  be  in  the  num- 
ber of  mine." 

When  Lord  Peterborough  was  seventy  years  old,  that 
indomitable  youth  addressed  some  flaming  love,  or  rather 
gallantry,  letters  to  Mrs.  Howard— curious  relics  they 
are  of  the  romantic  manner  of  wooing  sometimes  in  use 


52  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

in  those  days.  It  is  not  passion ;  it  is  not  love ;  it  is  gal- 
lantry :  a  mixture  of  earnest  and  acting ;  high-flown  com- 
pliments, profound  bows,  vows,  sighs  and  ogles,  in  the 
manner  of  the  Clelie  romances,  and  Millamont  and  Dori- 
court  in  the  comedy.  There  was  a  vast  elaboration  of 
ceremonies  and  etiquette,  of  raptures— a  regulated  form 
for  kneeling  and  wooing  which  has  quite  passed  out  of 
our  downright  manners.  Henrietta  Howard  accepted 
the  noble  old  earl's  philandering;  answered  the  queer 
love-letters  with  due  acknowledgment ;  made  a  profound 
curtsey  to  Peterborough's  profound  bow ;  and  got  John 
Gay  to  help  her  in  the  composition  of  her  letters  in  reply 
to  her  old  knight.  He  wrote  her  charming  verses,  in 
which  there  was  truth  as  well  as  grace.  "  O  wonderful 
creature!"  he  writes:— 

"  O  wonderful  creature,  a  woman  of  reason ! 
Never  grave  out  of  pride,  never  gay  out  of  season ! 
When  so  easy  to  guess  who  this  angel  should  be. 
Who  would  think  Mrs.  Howard  ne'er  dreamt  it  was  she.?  " 

The  great  Mr.  Pope  also  celebrated  her  in  lines  not  less 
pleasant,  and  painted  a  portrait  of  what  must  certainly 
have  been  a  delightful  lady: — 

"  I  know  a  thing  that's  most  uncommon — 
Envy,  be  silent  and  attend! — 
I  know  a  reasonable  woman, 

Handsome,  yet  witty,  and  a  friend: 

"  Not  warp'd  by  passion,  aw'd  by  rumour. 

Not  grave  through  pride,  or  gay  through  folly : 
An  equal  mixture  of  good-humour 
And  exquisite  soft  melancholy. 


GEORGE  THE  SECOND  53 

"  Has  she  no  faults,  then  (Envy  says),  sir? 
Yes,  she  has  one,  I  must  aver — 
When  all  the  world  conspires  to  praise  her, 
The  woman's  deaf,  and  does  not  hear !  " 

Even  the  women  concurred  in  praising  and  loving  her. 
The  Duchess  of  Queensberry  bears  testimony  to  her 
amiable  qualities,  and  writes  to  her:  "  I  tell  you  so  and 
so,  because  you  love  children,  and  to  have  children  love 
you."  The  beautiful,  jolly  Mary  Bellenden,  repre- 
sented by  contemporaries  as  "  the  most  perfect  crea- 
ture ever  known,"  writes  very  pleasantly  to  her  "dear 
Howard,"  her  "  dear  Swiss,"  from  the  country,  whither 
Mary  had  retired  after  her  marriage,  and  when  she  gave 
up  being  a  maid  of  honour.  "  How  do  you  do,  Mrs. 
Howard?  "  Mary  breaks  out.  "  How  do  you  do,  Mrs. 
Howard?  that  is  all  I  have  to  say.  This  afternoon  I  am 
taken  with  a  fit  of  writing ;  but  as  to  matter,  I  have  no- 
thing better  to  entertain  you,  than  news  of  my  farm.  I 
therefore  give  you  the  following  list  of  the  stock  of  eata- 
bles that  I  am  fatting  for  my  private  tooth.  It  is  well 
known  to  the  whole  county  of  Kent,  that  I  have  four  fat 
calves,  two  fat  hogs,  fit  for  killing,  twelve  promising 
black  pigs,  two  young  chickens,  three  fine  geese,  with 
thirteen  eggs  under  each  (several  being  duck-eggs,  else 
the  others  do  not  come  to  maturity)  ;  all  this,  with  rab- 
bits, and  pigeons,  and  carp  in  plenty,  beef  and  mutton 
at  reasonable  rates.  Now,  Howard,  if  you  have  a  mind 
to  stick  a  knife  into  anything  I  have  named,  say  so!  " 

A  jolly  set  must  they  have  been,  those  maids  of  hon- 
our. Pope  introduces  us  to  a  whole  bevy  of  them,  in  a 
pleasant  letter.  "  I  went,"  he  says,  "  by  water  to  Hamp- 
ton Court,  and  met  the  Prince,  with  all  his  ladies,  on 


54  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

horseback,  coming  from  limiting.  Mrs.  Bellenden  and 
Mrs.  Lepell  took  me  into  protection,  contrary  to  the  laws 
against  harbouring  Papists,  and  gave  me  a  "dinner,  with 
something  I  liked  better,  an  opportunity  of  conversation 
with  Mrs.  Howard.  We  all  agreed  that  the  life  of  a 
maid  of  honour  was  of  all  things  the  most  miserable,  and 
wished  that  all  women  who  envied  it  had  a  specimen  of 
it.  To  eat  Westphalia  ham  of  a  morning,  ride  over 
hedges  and  ditches  on  borrowed  hacks,  come  home  in  the 
heat  of  the  day  with  a  fever,  and  (what  is  worse  a  hun- 
dred times)  with  a  red  mark  on  the  forehead  from  an 
uneasy  hat— all  this  may  qualify  them  to  make  excellent 
wives  for  hunters.  As  soon  as  they  wipe  off  the  heat  of 
the  day,  they  must  simper  an  hour  and  catch  cold  in  the 
Princess's  apartment;  from  thence  to  dinner  with  what 
appetite  they  may;  and  after  that  till  midnight,  work, 
walk,  or  think  which  way  they  please.  No  lone  house  in 
Wales,  with  a  mountain  and  rookery,  is  more  contem- 
plative than  this  Court.  Miss  Lepell  walked  with  me 
three  or  four  hours  by  moonlight,  and  we  met  no  creature 
of  any  quality  but  the  King,  who  gave  audience  to  the 
vice-chamberlain  all  alone  under  the  garden  wall." 

I  fancy  it  was  a  merrier  England,  that  of  our  ances- 
tors, than  the  island  which  we  inhabit.  People  high  and 
low  amused  themselves  very  much  more.  I  have  calcu- 
lated the  manner  in  which  statesmen  and  persons  of  con- 
dition passed  their  time— and  what  with  drinking,  and 
dining,  and  supping,  and  cards,  wonder  how  they  got 
through  their  business  at  all.  They  played  all  sorts  of 
games,  which,  with  the  exception  of  cricket  and  tennis, 
have  quite  gone  out  of  our  manners  now.  In  the  old 
prints  of  St.  James's  Park,  you  still  see  the  marks  along 
the  walk,  to  note  the  balls  when  the  Court  played  at 


GEORGE  THE  SECOND  55 

Mall.  Fancy  Birdcage  Walk  now  so  laid  out,  and  Lord 
John  and  Lord  Palmerston  knocking  balls  up  and  down 
the  avenue!  Most  of  those  jolly  sports  belong  to  the 
past,  and  the  good  old  games  of  England  are  only  to  be 
found  in  old  novels,  in  old  ballads,  or  the  columns  of 
dingy  old  newspapers,  which  say  how  a  main  of  cocks  is 
to  be  fought  at  Winchester  between  the  Winchester  men 
and  the  Hampton  men;  or  how  the  Cornwall  men  and 
the  Devon  men  are  going  to  hold  a  great  wrestling- 
match  at  Totnes,  and  so  on. 

A  hundred  and  twenty  years  ago  there  were  not  only 
country  towns  in  England,  but  people  who  inhabited 
them.  We  were  very  much  more  gregarious;  we  were 
amused  by  very  simple  pleasures.  Every  town  had  its 
fair,  every  village  its  wake.  The  old  poets  have  sung  a 
hundred  jolly  ditties  about  great  cudgel-playings,  fa- 
mous grinning  through  horse-collars,  great  maypole 
meetings,  and  morris-dances.  The  girls  used  to  run 
races  clad  in  very  light  attire;  and  the  kind  gentry  and 
good  parsons  thought  no  shame  in  looking  on.  Dancing 
bears  went  about  the  country  with  pipe  and  tabor.  Cer- 
tain well-known  tunes  were  sung  all  over  the  land  for 
hundreds  of  years,  and  high  and  low  rejoiced  in  that 
simple  music.  Gentlemen  who  wished  to  entertain  their 
female  friends  constantly  sent  for  a  band.  When  Beau 
Fielding,  a  mighty  fine  gentleman,  was  courting  the 
lady  whom  he  married,  he  treated  her  and  her  companion 
at  his  lodgings  to  a  supper  from  the  tavern,  and  after 
supper  they  sent  out  for  a  fiddler— three  of  them. 
Fancy  the  three,  in  a  great  wainscoted  room,  in  Covent 
Garden  or  Soho,  lighted  by  two  or  three  candles  in  silver 
sconces,  some  grapes  and  a  bottle  of  Florence  wine  on 
the  table,  and  the  honest  fiddler  playing  old  tunes  in 


50  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

quaint  old  minor  keys,  as  the  Beau  takes  out  one  lady 
after  the  other,  and  solemnly  dances  with  her ! 

The  very  great  folks,  young  noblemen,  with  their 
governors,  and  the  like,  went  abroad  and  made  the  great 
tour;  the  home  satirists  jeered  at  the  Frenchified  and 
Italian  ways  which  they  brought  back;  but  the  greater 
number  of  people  never  left  the  country.  The  jolly 
squire  often  had  never  been  twenty  miles  from  home. 
Those  who  did  go  went  to  the  baths,  to  Harrogate,  or 
Scarborough,  or  Bath,  or  Epsom.  Old  letters  are  full 
of  these  places  of  pleasure.  Gay  writes  to  us  about  the 
fiddlers  at  Tunbridge ;  of  the  ladies  having  merry  little 
private  balls  amongst  themselves;  and  the  gentlemen 
entertaining  them  by  turns  with  tea  and  music.  One  of 
the  young  beauties  whom  he  met  did  not  care  for  tea: 
"  We  have  a  young  lady  here,"  he  says,  "  that  is  very 
particular  in  her  desires.  I  have  known  some  young  la- 
dies, who,  if  ever  they  prayed,  would  ask  for  some  equi- 
page or  title,  a  husband  or  matadores :  but  this  lady,  who 
is  but  seventeen,  and  has  30,000Z.  to  her  fortune,  places 
all  her  wishes  on  a  pot  of  good  ale.  When  her  friends, 
for  the  sake  of  her  shape  and  complexion,  would  dis- 
suade her  from  it,  she  answers,  with  the  truest  sincerity, 
that  by  the  loss  of  shape  and  complexion  she  could  only 
lose  a  husband,  whereas  ale  is  her  passion." 

Every  country  town  had  its  assembly-room— mouldy 
old  tenements,  which  we  may  still  see  in  deserted  inn- 
yards,  in  decayed  provincial  cities,  out  of  which  the  great 
wen  of  London  has  sucked  all  the  life.  York,  at  assize 
times,  and  throughout  the  winter,  harboured  a  large  so- 
ciety of  northern  gentry.  Shrewsbury  was  celebrated 
for  its  festivities.  At  Newmarket,  I  read  of  "a  vast 
deal  of  good  company,  besides  rogues  and  blacklegs;  " 


GEORGE  THE  SECOND  57 

at  Norwich,  of  two  assemblies,  with  a  prodigious  crowd 
in  the  hall,  the  rooms,  and  the  gallery.  In  Cheshire  (it 
is  a  maid  of  honour  of  Queen  Caroline  who  writes,  and 
who  is  longing  to  be  back  at  Hampton  Court,  and  the 
fun  there)  I  peep  into  a  country  house,  and  see  a  very 
merry  party:  "  We  meet  in  the  work-room  before  nine, 
eat,  and  break  a  joke  or  two  till  twelve,  then  we  repair  to 
our  own  chambers  and  make  ourselves  ready,  for  it 
cannot  be  called  dressing.  At  noon  the  great  bell  fetches 
us  into  a  parlour,  adorned  with  all  sorts  of  fine  arms, 
poisoned  darts,  several  pair  of  old  boots  and  shoes  worn 
by  men  of  might,  with  the  stirrups  of  King  Charles  I., 
taken  from  him  at  Edgehill,"— and  there  they  have  their 
dinner,  after  which  comes  dancing  and  supper. 

As  for  Bath,  all  history  went  and  bathed  and  drank 
there.  George  II.  and  his  Queen,  Prince  Frederick  and 
his  court,  scarce  a  character  one  can  mention  of  the  early 
last  century,  but  was  seen  in  that  famous  Pump  Room 
where  Beau  Nash  presided,  and  his  picture  hung  be- 
tween the  busts  of  Newton  and  Pope: 

"  This  picture,  placed  these  busts  between, 
Gives  satire  all  its  strength: 
Wisdom  and  Wit  are  little  seen, 
But  Folly  at  full  length." 

I  should  like  to  have  seen  the  Folly.  It  was  a  splen- 
did, embroidered,  beruffled,  snuff-boxed,  red-heeled,  im- 
pertinent Folly,  and  knew  how  to  make  itself  respected. 
I  should  like  to  have  seen  that  noble  old  madcap  Peter- 
borough in  his  boots  (he  actually  had  the  audacity  to 
walk  about  Bath  in  boots!),  with  his  blue  ribbon  and 
stars,  and  a  cabbage  under  each  arm,  and  a  chicken  in  his 
hand,  which  he  had  been  cheapening  for  his  dinner. 


58  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

Chesterfield  came  there  many  a  time  and  gambled  for 
hundreds,  and  grinned  through  his  gout.  Mary  Wort- 
ley  was  there,  young  and  beautiful ;  and  Mary  Wortley, 
old,  hideous,  and  snuffy.  Miss  Chudleigh  came  there, 
slipping  away  from  one  husband,  and  on  the  look-out 
for  another.  Walpole  passed  many  a  day  there ;  sickly, 
supercilious,  absurdly  dandified,  and  affected ;  with  a 
brilliant  wit,  a  delightful  sensibility ;  and  for  his  friends, 
a  most  tender,  generous,  and  faithful  heart.  And  if  you 
and  I  had  been  alive  then,  and  strolling  down  "Milsom 
Street— hush!  we  should  have  taken  our  hats  off,  as  an 
awful,  long,  lean,  gaunt  figure,  swathed  in  flannels, 
passed  by  in  its  chair,  and  a  livid  face  looked  out  from 
the  window— great  fierce  eyes  staring  from  under  a 
bushy,  powdered  wig,  a  terrible  frown,  a  terrible  Roman 
nose— and  we  whisper  to  one  another,  "There  he  is! 
There's  the  great  commoner!  There  is  Mr.  Pitt!  "  As 
we  walk  away,  the  abbey  bells  are  set  a-ringing ;  and  we 
meet  our  testy  friend  Toby  Smollett,  on  the  arm  of 
James  Quin  the  actor,  who  tells  us  that  the  bells  ring 
for  Mr.  Bullock,  an  eminent  cowkeeper  from  Totten- 
ham, who  has  just  arrived  to  drink  the  waters;  and  Toby 
shakes  his  cane  at  the  door  of  Colonel  Ringworm— the 
Creole  gentleman's  lodgings  next  his  own— where  the 
colonel's  two  negroes  are  practising  on  the  French  horn. 
When  we  try  to  recall  social  England,  we  must  fancy 
it  playing  at  cards  for  many  hours  every  day.  The  cus- 
tom is  well  nigh  gone  out  among  us  now,  but  fifty  years 
ago  was  general,  fifty  years  before  that  almost  univer- 
sal, in  the  country.  "  Gaming  has  become  so  much  the 
fashion,"  writes  Seymour,  the  author  of  the  "  Court 
Gamester,"  "  that  he  who  in  company  should  be  igno- 
rant of  the  games  in  vogue,  would  be  reckoned  low-bred. 


GEORGE  THE  SECOND  59 

and  hardly  fit  for  conversation."  There  were  cards 
everywhere.  It  was  considered  ill-bred  to  read  in  com- 
pany. "  Books  were  not  fit  articles  for  drawing-rooms," 
old  ladies  used  to  say.  People  were  jealous,  as  it  were, 
and  angry  with  them.  You  will  find  in  Hervey  that 
George  II.  was  always  furious  at  the  sight  of  books;  and 
his  Queen,  who  loved  reading,  had  to  practise  it  in  secret 
in  her  closet.  But  cards  were  the  resource  of  all  the 
world.  Every  night,  for  hours,  kings  and  queens  of 
England  sat  down  and  handled  their  majesties  of  spades 
and  diamonds.  In  European  Courts,  I  believe  the  prac- 
tice still  remains,  not  for  gambling,  but  for  pastime. 
Our  ancestors  generally  adopted  it.  "Books!  prithee, 
don't  talk  to  me  about  books,"  said  old  Sarah  Marlbor- 
ough. "  The  only  books  I  know  are  men  and  cards." 
"  Dear  old  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  sent  all  his  tenants  a 
string  of  hogs'  puddings  and  a  pack  of  cards  at  Christ- 
mas," says  the  SiJectator,  wishing  to  depict  a  kind  land- 
lord. One  of  the  good  old  lady  writers  in  whose  letters 
I  have  been  dipping  cries  out,  "  Sure,  cards  have  kept  us 
women  from  a  great  deal  of  scandal!  "  Wise  old  John- 
son regretted  that  he  had  not  learnt  to  play.  "  It  is  very 
useful  in  life,"  he  says;  "  it  generates  kindness,  and  con- 
sohdates  society."  David  Hume  never  went  to  bed  with- 
out his  whist.  We  have  Walpole,  in  one  of  his  letters,  in 
a  transport  of  gratitude  for  the  cards.  "  I  shall  build  an 
altar  to  Pam,"  says  he,  in  his  pleasant  dandified  way, 
"  for  the  escape  of  my  charming  Duchess  of  Grafton." 
The  Duchess  had  been  playing  cards  at  Rome,  when  she 
ought  to  have  been  at  a  cardinal's  concert,  where  the 
floor  fell  in,  and  all  the  monsignors  were  precipitated 
into  the  cellar.  Even  the  Nonconformist  clergy  looked 
not  unkindly  on  the  practice.    "  I  do  not  think,"  says  one 


60  THE  FOUR  GEORGES 

of  them,  "  that  honest  Martin  Luther  committed  sin  by 
playing  at  backgammon  for  an  hour  or  two  after  dinner, 
in  order  by  unbending  his  mind  to  promote  digestion." 
As  for  the  High  Church  parsons,  they  all  played,  bish- 
ops and  all.  On  Twelfth-day  the  Court  used  to  play 
in  state.  "  This  being  Twelfth-day,  his  Majesty,  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  and  the  Knights  Companions  of  the 
Garter,  Thistle,  and  Bath,  appeared  in  the  collars  of 
their  respective  orders.  Their  Majesties,  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  and  three  eldest  Princesses,  went  to  the  Chapel 
Royal,  preceded  by  the  heralds.  The  Duke  of  Man- 
chester carried  the  sword  of  State.  The  King  and 
Prince  made  offering  at  the  altar  of  gold,  frankincense, 
and  myrrh,  according  to  the  annual  custom.  At  night 
their  Majesties  played  at  hazard  with  the  nobility,  for 
the  benefit  of  the  groom-porter ;  and  'twas  said  the  king 
won  600  guineas;  the  queen,  360;  Princess  Amelia, 
twenty;  Princess  Caroline,  ten;  the  Duke  of  Grafton 
and  the  Earl  of  Portmore,  several  thousands." 

Let  us  glance  at  the  same  chronicle,  which  is  of  the 
year  1731,  and  see  how  others  of  our  forefathers  were 
engaged. 

"  Cork,  15th  January.— This  day,  one  Tim  Croneen 
was,  for  the  murder  and  robbery  of  Mr.  St.  Leger  and 
his  wife,  sentenced  to  be  hanged  two  minutes,  then  his 
head  to  be  cut  off,  and  his  body  divided  in  four  quarters, 
to  be  placed  in  four  cross-ways.  He  was  servant  to  Mr. 
St.  Leger,  and  committed  the  murder  with  the  privity 
of  the  servant-maid,  who  was  sentenced  to  be  burned; 
also  of  the  gardener,  whom  he  knocked  on  the  head,  to 
deprive  him  of  his  share  of  the  booty." 

"  January  3.— A  postboy  was  shot  by  an  Irish  gen- 
tleman on  the  road  near  Stone,  in  Staffordshire,  who 


GEORGE  THE  SECOND  61 

died  in  two  days,  for  which  the  gentleman  was  impris- 
oned." 

"  A  poor  man  was  found  hanging  in  a  gentleman's 
stables  at  Bungay,  in  Norfolk,  by  a  person  who  cut  him 
down,  and  running  for  assistance,  left  his  penknife  be- 
hind him.  The  poor  man  recovering,  cut  his  throat  with 
the  knife;  and  a  river  being  nigh,  jumped  into  it;  but 
company  coming,  he  was  dragged  out  alive,  and  was  like 
to  remain  so." 

"  The  Honourable  Thomas  Finch,  brother  to  the  Earl 
of  Nottingham,  is  appointed  ambassador  at  the  Hague, 
in  the  room  of  the  Earl  of  Chesterfield,  who  is  on  his  re- 
turn home." 

"  William  Cowper,  Esq.,  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  John 
Cowper,  chaplain  in  ordinary  to  her  Majesty,  and  rector 
of  Great  Berkhampstead,  in  the  county  of  Hertford, 
are  appointed  clerks  of  the  commissioners  of  bank- 
ruptcy." 

"  Charles  Creagh,  Esq.,  and Macnamara,  Esq., 

between  whom  an  old  grudge  of  three  years  had  sub- 
sisted, which  had  occasioned  their  being  bound  over 
about  fifty  times  for  breaking  the  peace,  meeting  in 
company  with  Mr.  Eyres,  of  Galloway,  they  discharged 
their  pistols,  and  all  three  were  killed  on  the  spot— to 
the  great  joy  of  their  peaceful  neighbours,  say  the  Irish 
papers." 

"  Wheat  is  26*.  to  28s.,  and  barley  205.  to  22s.  a  quar- 
ter; three  per  cents.,  92;  best  loaf  sugar,  d^d.;  Bohea, 
12s.  to  14s.;  Pekoe,  18s.;  and  Hyson,  35s.  per  pound." 

"  At  Exon  was  celebrated  with  great  magnificence 
the  birthday  of  the  son  of  Sir  W.  Courtney,  Bart.,  at 
which  more  than  1,000  persons  were  present.  A  bullock 
was  roasted  whole;  a  butt  of  wine  and  several  tuns  of 


62  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

beer  and  cider  were  given  to  the  populace.  At  the  same 
time  Sir  WiUiam  delivered  to  his  son,  then  of  age,  Pow- 
dram  Castle,  and  a  great  estate." 

"  Charlesworth  and  Cox,  two  solicitors,  convicted  of 
forgery,  stood  on  the  pillory  at  the  Royal  Exchange. 
The  first  was  severely  handled  by  the  populace,  but  the  ' 
other  was  very  much  favoured,  and  protected  by  six  or 
seven  fellows  who  got  on  the  pillory  to  protect  him  from 
the  insults  of  the  mob." 

"  A  boy  killed  by  falhng  upon  iron  spikes,  from  a 
lamp-post,  which  he  climbed  to  see  Mother  Needham 
stand  in  the  pillory." 

"  Mary  Lynn  was  burnt  to  ashes  at  the  stake  for  being 
concerned  in  the  murder  of  her  mistress." 

"  Alexander  Russell,  the  foot  soldier,  who  was  capi- 
tally convicted  for  a  street  robbery  in  January  sessions, 
was  reprieved  for  transportation;  but  having  an  estate 
fallen  to  him,  obtained  a  free  pardon." 

"  The  Lord  John  Russell  married  to  the  Lady  Diana 
Spencer,  at  Marlborough  House.  He  has  a  fortune  of 
30,000Z.  down,  and  is  to  have  100,000Z.  at  the  death  of 
the  Duchess  Dowager  of  Marlborough,  his  grand- 
mother." 

"  March  1  being  the  anniversary  of  the  Queen's  birth- 
day, when  her  Majesty  entered  the  forty -ninth  year  of 
her  age,  there  was  a  splendid  appearance  of  nobility  at 
St.  James's.  Her  Majesty  was  magnificently  dressed, 
and  wore  a  flowered  muslin  head-edging,  as  did  also  her 
Royal  Highness.  The  Lord  Portmore  was  said  to  have 
had  the  richest  dress,  though  an  Italian  Count  had 
twenty-four  diamonds  instead  of  buttons." 

New  clothes  on  the  birthday  were  the  fashion  for  all 
loyal  people.    Swift  mentions  the  custom  several  times. 


GEORGE  THE  SECOND  63 

Walpole  is  constantly  speaking  of  it;  laughing  at  the 
practice,  but  having  the  very  finest  clothes  from  Paris, 
nevertheless.  If  the  King  and  Queen  were  unpopular, 
there  were  very  few  new  clothes  at  the  drawing-room. 
In  a  paper  in  the  True  Patriot,  No.  3,  written  to  attack 
the  Pretender,  the  Scotch,  French,  and  Popery,  Field- 
ing supposes  the  Scotch  and  the  Pretender  in  possession 
of  London,  and  himself  about  to  be  hanged  for  loyalty, 
—when,  just  as  the  rope  is  round  his  neck,  he  says:  "  My 
little  girl  entered  my  bed-chamber,  and  put  an  end  to 
my  dream  by  pulling  open  my  eyes,  and  telling  me  that 
the  tailor  had  just  brought  home  my  clothes  for  his  Maj- 
esty's birthday."  In  his  "  Temple  Beau,"  the  beau  is 
dunned  "  for  a  birthday  suit  of  velvet,  40/."  Be  sure 
that  Mr.  Harry  Fielding  was  dunned  too. 

The  public  days,  no  doubt,  were  splendid,  but  the  pri- 
vate Court  life  must  have  been  awfully  wearisome.  "  I 
will  not  trouble  you,"  writes  Hervey  to  Lady  Sundon, 
"  with  any  account  of  our  occupations  at  Hampton 
Court.  No  mill-horse  ever  went  in  a  more  constant 
track,  or  a  more  unchanging  circle ;  so  that,  by  the  assis- 
tance of  an  almanack  for  the  day  of  the  week,  and  a 
watch  for  the  hour  of  the  day,  you  may  inform  yourself 
fully,  without  any  other  intelligence  but  your  memor5^ 
of  every  transaction  within  the  verge  of  the  Court. 
Walking,  chaises,  levees,  and  audiences  fill  the  morning. 
At  night  the  King  plays  at  commerce  and  backgammon, 
and  the  Queen  at  quadrille,  where  poor  Lady  Charlotte 
runs  her  usual  nightly  gauntlet,  the  Queen  pulling  her 
hood,  and  the  Princess  Royal  rapping  her  knuckles. 
The  Duke  of  Grafton  takes  his  nightly  opiate  of  lottery, 
and  sleeps  as  usual  between  the  Princesses  Amelia  and 
Caroline.    Lord  Grantham  strolls  from  one  room  to  an- 


64  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

other  (as  Dryden  says),  like  some  discontented  ghost 
that  oft  appears,  and  is  forbid  to  speak;  and  stirs  himself 
about  as  people  stir  a  fire,  not  with  any  design,  but  in 
hopes  to  make  it  burn  brisker.  At  last  the  King  gets 
up ;  the  pool  finishes ;  and  everybody  has  their  dismission. 
Their  Majesties  retire  to  Lady  Charlotte  and  my  Lord 
LiiFord ;  my  Lord  Grantham,  to  Lady  Frances  and  Mr. 
Clark:  some  to  supper,  some  to  bed;  and  thus  the  even- 
ing and  the  morning  make  the  day." 

The  King's  fondness  for  Hanover  occasioned  all  sorts 
of  rough  jokes  among  his  Enghsh  subjects,  to  whom 
sauer-kraut  and  sausages  have  ever  been  ridiculous  ob- 
jects. When  our  present  Prince  Consort  came  among 
us,  the  people  bawled  out  songs  in  the  streets  indicative 
of  the  absurdity  of  Germany  in  general.  The  sausage- 
shops  produced  enormous  sausages  which  we  might  sup- 
pose were  the  daily  food  and  delight  of  German  princes. 
I  remember  the  caricatures  at  the  marriage  of  Prince 
Leopold  with  the  Princess  Charlotte.  The  bridegroom 
was  drawn  in  rags.  George  III.'s  wife  was  called  by 
the  people  a  beggarly  German  duchess ;  the  British  idea 
being  that  all  princes  were  beggarly  except  British 
princes.  King  George  paid  us  back.  He  thought  there 
were  no  manners  out  of  Germany.  Sarah  Marlborough 
once  coming  to  visit  the  Princess,  whilst  her  Royal 
Highness  was  whipping  one  of  the  roaring  royal  chil- 
dren, "All!  "  says  George,  who  was  standing  by,  "  you 
have  no  good  manners  in  England,  because  you  are  not 
properly  brought  up  when  you  are  young."  He  insisted 
that  no  English  cooks  could  roast,  no  English  coach- 
man could  drive:  he  actually  questioned  the  superiority 
of  our  nobility,  our  horses,  and  our  roast  beef ! 

Whilst  he  was  away  from  his  beloved  Hanover,  every- 


GEORGE  THE  SECOND  65 

thing  remained  there  exactly  as  in  the  Prince's  presence. 
There  were  800  horses  in  the  stables,  there  was  all  the 
apparatus  of  chamberlains,  court-marshals,  and  equer- 
ries; and  court  assemblies  were  held  every  Saturday, 
where  all  the  nobility  of  Hanover  assembled  at  what  I 
can't  but  think  a  fine  and  touching  ceremony.  A  large 
arm-chair  was  placed  in  the  assembly-room,  and  on  it 
the  King's  portrait.  The  nobility  advanced,  and  made  a 
bow  to  the  arm-chair,  and  to  the  image  which  Nebuchad- 
nezzar the  king  had  set  up ;  and  spoke  under  their  voices 
before  the  august  picture,  just  as  they  would  have  done 
had  the  King  Churfiirst  been  present  himself. 

He  was  always  going  back  to  Hanover.  In  the  year 
1729,  he  went  for  two  whole  years,  during  which  Caro- 
line reigned  for  him  in  England,  and  he  was  not  in  the 
least  missed  by  his  British  subjects.  He  went  again  in 
'35  and  '36;  and  between  the  years  1740  and  1755  was  no 
less  than  eight  times  on  the  Continent,  which  amusement 
he  was  obliged  to  give  up  at  the  outbreak  of  the  Seven 
Years'  war.  Here  every  day's  amusement  was  the  same. 
"  Our  life  is  as  uniform  as  that  of  a  monastery,"  writes 
a  courtier  whom  Vehse  quotes.  "  Every  morning  at 
eleven,  and  every  evening  at  six,  we  drive  in  the  heat  to 
Herrenhausen,  through  an  enormous  linden  avenue ;  and 
twice  a  day  cover  our  coats  and  coaches  with  dust.  In 
the  King's  society  there  never  is  the  least  change.  At 
table,  and  at  cards,  he  sees  always  the  same  faces,  and  at 
the  end  of  the  game  retires  into  his  chamber.  Twice  a 
week  there  is  a  French  theatre;  the  other  days  there  is 
play  in  the  gallery.  In  this  way,  were  the  King  always 
to  stop  in  Hanover,  one  could  make  a  ten  years'  calendar 
of  his  proceedings ;  and  settle  beforehand  what  his  time 
of  business,  meals,  and  pleasure  would  be." 


66  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

The  old  pagan  kept  his  promise  to  his  dying  wife. 
Lady  Yarmouth  was  now  in  full  favour,  and  treated 
with  profound  respect  by  the  Hanover  society,  though  it 
appears  rather  neglected  in  England  when  she  came 
among  us.  In  1740,  a  couple  of  the  King's  daughters 
went  to  see  him  at  Hanover;  Anna,  the  Princess  of 
Orange  (about  whom,  and  whose  husband  and  marriage- 
day,  Walpole  and  Hervey  have  left  us  the  most  ludicrous 
descriptions),  and  Maria  of  Hesse  Cassel,  with  their  re- 
spective lords.  This  made  the  Hanover  court  very  bril- 
liant. In  honour  of  his  high  guests,  the  King  gave  sev- 
eral fetes;  among  others,  a  magnificent  masked  ball,  in 
the  green  theatre  at  Herrenhausen— the  garden  theatre, 
with  linden  and  box  for  screen,  and  grass  for  a  carpet, 
where  the  Platens  had  danced  to  George  and  his  father 
the  late  sultan.  The  stage  and  a  great  part  of  the  gar- 
den were  illuminated  with  coloured  lamps.  Almost  the 
whole  court  appeared  in  white  dominoes,  "  like,"  says 
the  describer  of  the  scene,  "  hke  spirits  in  the  Elysian 
fields.  At  night,  supper  was  served  in  the  gallery  with 
three  great  tables,  and  the  King  was  very  merry.  After 
supper  dancing  was  resumed,  and  I  did  not  get  home  till 
five  o'clock  by  full  daylight  to  Hanover.  Some  days 
afterwards  we  had,  in  the  opera-house  at  Hanover,  a 
great  assembly.  The  King  appeared  in  a  Turkish  dress ; 
his  turban  was  ornamented  with  a  magnificent  agraffe 
of  diamonds ;  the  Lady  Yarmouth  was  dressed  as  a  sul- 
tana; nobody  was  more  beautiful  than  the  Princess  of 
Hesse."  So,  while  poor  Caroline  was  resting  in  her 
coffin,  dapper  little  George,  with  his  red  face  and  his 
white  eyebrows  and  goggle-eyes,  at  sixty  years  of  age,  is 
dancing  a  pretty  dance  with  Madame  Walmoden,  and 
capering  about  dressed  up  like  a  Turk!     For  twenty 


GEORGE  THE  SECOND  67 

years  more,  that  little  old  Bajazet  went  on  in  this  Turk- 
ish fashion,  until  the  fit  came  which  choked  the  old  man, 
when  he  ordered  the  side  of  his  coffin  to  be  taken  out,  as 
well  as  that  of  poor  Caroline's  who  had  preceded  him, 
so  that  his  sinful  old  bones  and  ashes  might  mingle  with 
those  of  the  faithful  creature.  O  strutting  Turkey-cock 
of  Herrenhausen  1  O  naughty  little  Mahomet !  in  what 
Turkish  paradise  are  you  now,  and  where  be  your 
painted  houris?  So  Countess  Yarmouth  appeared  as  a 
sultana,  and  his  jMajesty  in  a  Turkish  dress  w^ore  an 
agraffe  of  diamonds,  and  was  very  merry,  was  he? 
Friends!  he  was  your  fathers'  King  as  well  as  mine— let 
us  drop  a  respectful  tear  over  his  grave. 

He  said  of  his  wife  that  he  never  knew  a  woman  who 
was  worthy  to  buckle  her  shoe :  he  would  sit  alone  weep- 
ing before  her  portrait,  and  when  he  had  dried  his  eyes, 
he  would  go  off  to  his  Walmoden  and  talk  of  her.  On 
the  25th  day  of  October,  1760,  he  being  then  in  the 
seventy-seventh  year  of  his  age,  and  the  thirty-fourth  of 
his  reign,  his  page  went  to  take  him  his  royal  chocolate, 
and  behold!  the  most  religious  and  gracious  King  was 
lying  dead  on  the  floor.  They  went  and  fetched  Wal- 
moden ;  but  Walmoden  could  not  wake  him.  The  sacred 
Majesty  was  but  a  lifeless  corpse.  The  King  was  dead; 
God  save  the  King!  But,  of  course,  poets  and  clergy- 
men decorously  bewailed  the  late  one.  Here  are  some 
artless  verses,  in  which  an  English  divine  deplored  the 
famous  departed  hero,  and  over  which  you  may  cry  or 
you  may  laugh,  exactly  as  your  humour  suits: — 

"  While  at  his  feet  expiring  Faction  lay, 
No  contest  left  but  who  should  best  obey ; 


68  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

Saw  in  his  offspring  all  himself  renewed; 
The  same  fair  path  of  glory  still  pursued ; 
Saw  to  young  George  Augusta's  care  impart 
Whate'er  could  raise  and  humanize  the  heart; 
Blend  all  his  grandsire's  virtues  with  his  own, 
And  form  their  mingled  radiance  for  the  throne — 
No  farther  blessing  could  on  earth  be  given — 
The  next  degree  of  happiness  was — heaven !" 

If  he  had  been  good,  if  he  had  been  just,  if  he  had 
been  pure  in  life,  and  wise  in  council,  could  the  poet  have 
said  much  more?  It  was  a  parson  who  came  and  wept 
over  this  grave,  with  Walmoden  sitting  on  it,  and 
claimed  heaven  for  the  poor  old  man  slumbering  below. 
Here  was  one  who  had  neither  dignity,  learning,  morals, 
nor  wit— who  tainted  a  great  society  by  a  bad  example; 
who  in  youth,  manhood,  old  age,  was  gross,  low,  and 
sensual;  and  Mr.  Porteus,  afterwards  my  Lord  Bishop 
Porteus,  says  the  earth  was  not  good  enough  for  him, 
and  that  his  only  place  was  heaven!  Bravo,  Mr.  Por- 
teus! The  divine  who  wept  these  tears  over  George  the 
Second's  memory  wore  George  the  Third's  lawn.  I 
don't  know  whether  people  still  admire  his  poetry  or  his 
sermons. 


George  III 


GEORGE  THE  THIRD 


'E  have  to  glance  over 
sixty  years  in  as  many 
minutes.  To  read  the 
mere  catalogue  of 
characters  who  figured 
during  that  long  pe- 
riod, would  occupy  our 
allotted  time,  and  we 
should  have  all  text 
and  no  sermon.  Eng- 
land has  to  undergo 
the  revolt  of  the  Amer- 
ican colonies;  to  sub- 
mit to  defeat  and  sepa- 
ration; to  shake  under 
the  volcano  of  the 
French  Revolution;  to 
grapple  and  fight  for  the  life  with  her  gigantic  enemy 
Napoleon;  to  gasp  and  rally  after  that  tremendous 
struggle.  The  old  society,  with  its  courtly  splendours, 
has  to  pass  away;  generations  of  statesmen  to  rise  and 
disappear;  Pitt  to  follow  Chatham  to  the  tomb;  the 
memory  of  Rodney  and  Wolfe  to  be  superseded  by  Nel- 
son's and  Wellington's  glory;  the  old  poets  who  unite 


70  THE  FOUR  GEORGES 

us  to  Queen  Anne's  time  to  sink  into  their  graves ;  John- 
son to  die,  and  Scott  and  Byron  to  arise;  Garrick  to 
dehght  the  world  with  his  dazzHng  dramatic  genius,  and 
Kean  to  leap  on  the  stage  and  take  possession  of  the  as- 
tonished theatre.  Steam  has  to  be  invented ;  kings  to  be 
beheaded,  banished,  deposed,  restored.  Napoleon  to  be 
but  an  episode,  and  George  III.  is  to  be  alive  through 
all  these  varied  changes,  to  accompany  his  people 
through  all  these  revolutions  of  thought,  government, 
society ;  to  survive  out  of  the  old  world  into  ours. 

When  I  first  saw  England,  she  was  in  mourning  for 
the  young  Princess  Charlotte,  the  hope  of  the  empire.  I 
came  from  India  as  a  child,  and  our  ship  touched  at  an 
island  on  the  way  home,  where  my  black  servant  took  me 
a  long  walk  over  rocks  and  hills  until  we  reached  a  gar- 
den, where  we  saw  a  man  walking.  "  That  is  he,"  said 
the  black  man:  "  that  is  Bonaparte!  He  eats  three  sheep 
every  day,  and  all  the  little  children  he  can  lay  hands 
on ! "  There  were  people  in  the  British  dominions  be- 
sides that  poor  Calcutta  serving-man,  with  an  equal  hor- 
ror of  the  Corsican  ogre. 

With  the  same  childish  attendant,  I  remember  peep- 
ing through  the  colonnade  at  Carlton  House,  and  seeing 
the  abode  of  the  great  Prince  Regent.  I  can  see  yet  the 
Guards  pacing  before  the  gates  of  the  place.  The  place ! 
What  place?  The  palace  exists  no  more  than  the  palace 
of  Nebuchadnezzar.  It  is  but  a  name  now.  Where  be 
the  sentries  who  used  to  salute  as  the  Royal  chariots 
drove  in  and  out?  The  chariots  with  the  kings  inside, 
have  driven  to  the  realms  of  Pluto ;  the  tall  Guards  have 
marched  into  darkness,  and  the  echoes  of  their  drums  are 
rolling  in  Hades.  Where  the  palace  once  stood,  a  hun- 
dred little  children  are  paddling  up  and  down  the  steps 


GEORGE  THE  THIRD  71 

to  St.  James's  Park.  A  score  of  grave  gentlemen  are 
taking  their  tea  at  the  "Athenaeum  Club;"  as  many 
grisly  warriors  are  garrisoning  the  "  United  Service 
Club  "  opposite.  Pall  Mall  is  the  great  social  Exchange 
of  London  now — the  mart  of  news,  of  politics,  of  scan- 
dal, of  rumour— the  English  forum,  so  to  speak,  where 
men  discuss  the  last  despatch  from  the  Crimea,  the  last 
speech  of  Lord  Derby,  the  next  move  of  Lord  John. 
And,  now  and  then,  to  a  few  antiquarians  whose 
thoughts  are  with  the  past  rather  than  with  the  present, 
it  is  a  memorial  of  old  times  and  old  people,  and  Pall 
Mall  is  our  Palmyra.  Look!  About  this  spot  Tom  of 
Ten  Thousand  was  killed  by  Konigsmarck's  gang.  In 
that  great  red  house  Gainsborough  lived,  and  Culloden 
Cumberland,  George  III.'s  uncle.  Yonder  is  Sarah 
Marlborough's  palace,  just  as  it  stood  when  that  terma- 
gant occupied  it.  At  25,  Walter  Scott  used  to  live ;  at 
the  house,  now  No.  79,^  and  occupied  by  the  Society  for 
the  Propagation  of  the  Gospel  in  Foreign  Parts,  re- 
sided Mrs.  Eleanor  Gwynn,  comedian.  How  often  has 
Queen  Caroline's  chair  issued  from  under  yonder  arch! 
All  the  men  of  the  Georges  have  passed  up  and  down 
the  street.  It  has  seen  Walpole's  chariot  and  Chatham's 
sedan;  and  Fox,  Gibbon,  Sheridan,  on  their  way  to 
Brookes's ;  and  stately  William  Pitt  stalking  on  the  arm 
of  Dundas ;  and  Hanger  and  Tom  Sheridan  reeling  out 
of  Raggett's;  and  Byron  limping  into  Wattier's;  and 
Swift  striding  out  of  Bury  Street ;  and  Mr.  Addison  and 
Dick  Steele,  both  perhaps  a  little  the  better  for  liquor; 
and  the  Prince  of  Wales  and  the  Duke  of  York  clatter- 
ing over  the  pavement ;  and  Johnson  counting  the  posts 
along  the  streets,  after  dawdling  before  Dodsley's  win- 

1  1856. 


72  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

dow;  and  Horry  Walpole  hobbling  into  his  carriage, 
with  a  gimcrack  just  bought  at  Christie's;  and  George 
Selwyn  sauntering  into  White's. 

In  the  pubhshed  letters  to  George  Selwyn  we  get  a 
mass  of  correspondence  by  no  means  so  brilliant  and 
witty  as  Walpole's,  or  so  bitter  and  bright  as  Hervey's, 
but  as  interesting,  and  even  more  descriptive  of  the  time, 
because  the  letters  are  the  work  of  many  hands.  You 
hear  more  voices  speaking,  as  it  were,  and  more  natural 
than  Horace's  dandified  treble,  and  Sporus's  malignant 
whisper.  As  one  reads  the  Selwyn  letters — as  one  looks 
at  Reynolds's  noble  pictures  illustrative  of  those  mag- 
nificent times  and  voluptuous  people— one  almost  hears 
the  voice  of  the  dead  past ;  the  laughter  and  the  chorus ; 
the  toast  called  over  the  brimming  cups ;  the  shout  at  the 
racecourse  or  the  gaming-table;  the  merry  joke  frankly 
spoken  to  the  laughing  fine  lady.  How  fine  those  ladies 
were,  those  ladies  who  heard  and  spoke  such  coarse  jokes ; 
how  grand  those  gentlemen! 

I  fancy  that  peculiar  product  of  the  past,  the  fine  gen- 
tleman, has  almost  vanished  off  the  face  of  the  earth, 
and  is  disappearing  like  the  beaver  or  the  Red  Indian. 
We  can't  have  fine  gentlemen  any  more,  because  we  can't 
have  the  society  in  which  they  lived.  The  people  will  not 
obey :  the  parasites  will  not  be  as  obsequious  as  formerly : 
children  do  not  go  down  on  their  knees  to  beg  their 
parents'  blessing:  chaplains  do  not  say  grace  and  retire 
before  the  pudding:  servants  do  not  say  "  your  honour  " 
and  "your  worship"  at  every  moment:  tradesmen  do 
not  stand  hat  in  hand  as  the  gentleman  passes:  authors 
do  not  wait  for  hours  in  gentlemen's  anterooms  with  a 
fulsome  dedication,   for  which  they  hope   to   get  five 


GEORGE   THE   THIRD  73 

guineas  from  his  lordship.  In  the  days  when  there  were 
fine  gentlemen,  Mr.  Secretary  Pitt's  under-secretaries 
did  not  dare  to  sit  down  before  him ;  but  Mr.  Pitt,  in  his 
turn,  went  down  on  his  gouty  knees  to  George  II. ;  and 
w^hen  George  III.  spoke  a  few  kind  words  to  him,  Lord 
Chatham  burst  into  tears  of  reverential  joy  and  grati- 
tude ;  so  awful  was  the  idea  of  the  monarch,  and  so  great 
the  distinctions  of  rank.  Fancy  Lord  John  Russell  or 
Lord  Palmerston  on  their  knees  whilst  the  Sovereign 
was  reading  a  despatch,  or  beginning  to  cry  because 
Prince  Albert  said  something  civil! 

At  the  accession  of  George  III.,  the  patricians  were  yet 
at  the  height  of  their  good  fortune.  Society  recognized 
their  superiority,  which  they  themselves  pretty  calmly 
took  for  granted.  They  inherited  not  only  titles  and  es- 
tates, and  seats  in  the  house  of  Peers,  but  seats  in  the 
House  of  Commons.  There  were  a  multitude  of  Gov- 
ernment places,  and  not  merely  these,  but  bribes  of  act- 
ual 500Z.  notes,  which  members  of  the  House  took  not 
much  shame  in  receiving.  Fox  went  into  Parliament  at 
20:  Pitt  when  just  of  age:  his  father  when  not  much 
older.  It  was  the  good  time  for  Patricians.  Small 
blame  to  them  if  they  took  and  enjoyed,  and  over- 
enjoyed,  the  prizes  of  politics,  the  pleasures  of  so- 
cial life. 

In  these  letters  to  Selwyn,  we  are  made  acquainted 
with  a  whole  society  of  these  defunct  fine  gentlemen: 
and  can  watch  with  a  curious  interest  a  life  which  the 
novel-writers  of  that  time,  I  think,  have  scarce  touched 
upon.  To  Smollett,  to  Fielding  even,  a  lord  was  a  lord : 
a  gorgeous  being  with  a  blue  ribbon,  a  coroneted  chair, 
and  an  immense  star  on  his  bosom,  to  whom  commoners 


74  THE    FOUR  GEORGES 

paid  reverence.  Richardson,  a  man  of  humbler  birth 
than  either  of  the  above  two,  owned  that  he  was  igno- 
rant regarding  the  manners  of  the  aristocracy,  and  be- 
sought Mrs.  Donnellan,  a  lady  who  had  lived  in  the  great 
world,  to  examine  a  volume  of  Sir  Charles  Grandison, 
and  point  out  any  errors  which  she  might  see  in  this  par- 
ticular. Mrs.  Donnellan  found  so  many  faults,  that 
Richardson  changed  colour ;  shut  up  the  book ;  and  mut- 
tered that  it  were  best  to  throw  it  in  the  fire.  Here,  in 
Selwyn,  we  have  the  real  original  men  and  women  of 
fashion  of  the  early  time  of  George  III.  We  can  fol- 
low them  to  the  new  club  at  Almack's :  we  can  travel  over 
Europe  with  them:  we  can  accompany  them  not  only  to 
the  public  places,  but  to  their  country-houses  and  private 
society.  Here  is  a  whole  company  of  them;  wits  and 
prodigals ;  some  persevering  in  their  bad  ways :  some  re- 
pentant, but  relapsing;  beautiful  ladies,  parasites,  hum- 
ble chaplains,  led  captains.  Those  fair  creatures  whom 
we  love  in  Reynolds's  portraits,  and  who  still  look  out  on 
us  from  his  canvases  with  their  sweet  calm  faces  and 
gracious  smiles — those  fine  gentlemen  who  did  us  the 
honour  to  govern  us ;  who  inherited  their  boroughs ;  took 
their  ease  in  their  patent  places;  and  slipped  Lord 
North's  bribes  so  elegantly  under  their  ruffles — we  make 
acquaintance  with  a  hundred  of  these  fine  folks,  hear 
their  talk  and  laughter,  read  of  their  loves,  quarrels,  in- 
trigues, debts,  duels,  divorces;  can  fancy  them  alive  if 
we  read  the  book  long  enough.  We  can  attend  at  Duke 
Hamilton's  wedding,  and  behold  him  marry  his  bride 
with  the  curtain-ring :  we  can  peep  into  her  poor  sister's 
death-bed:  we  can  see  Charles  Fox  cursing  over  the 
cards,  or  March  bawling  out  the  odds  at  Newmarket: 
we  can  imagine  Burgoyne  tripping  off  from  St.  James's 


GEORGE  THE   THIRD  75 

Street  to  conquer  the  Americans,  and  slinking  back  into 
the  club  somewhat  crestfallen  after  his  beating;  we  can 
see  the  young  King  dressing  himself  for  the  drawing- 
room  and  asking  ten  thousand  questions  regarding  all 
the  gentlemen :  we  can  have  high  life  or  low,  the  struggle 
at  the  Opera  to  behold  the  Violetta  or  the  Zamperini— 
the  Macaronies  and  fine  ladies  in  their  chairs  trooping  to 
the  masquerade  or  Madame  Cornelys's— the  crowd  at 
Drury  Lane  to  look  at  the  body  of  Miss  Ray,  whom  Par- 
son Hackman  has  just  pistolled— or  we  can  peep  into 
Newgate,  where  poor  Mr.  Rice  the  forger  is  waiting  his 
fate  and  his  supper.  "  You  need  not  be  particular  about 
the  sauce  for  his  fowl,"  says  one  turnkey  to  another: 
*'  for  you  know  he  is  to  be  hanged  in  the  morning." 
"  Yes,"  replies  the  second  janitor,  "  but  the  chaplain 
sups  with  him,  and  he  is  a  terrible  fellow  for  melted 
butter." 

Selwyn  has  a  chaplain  and  parasite,  one  Dr.  Warner, 
than  whom  Plautus,  or  Ben  Jonson,  or  Hogarth,  never 
painted  a  better  character.  In  letter  after  letter  he  adds 
fresh  strokes  to  the  portrait  of  himself,  and  completes  a 
portrait  not  a  little  curious  to  look  at  now  that  the  man 
has  passed  away;  all  the  foul  pleasures  and  gambols  in 
which  he  revelled,  played  out;  all  the  rouged  faces  into 
which  he  leered,  worms  and  skulls ;  all  the  fine  gentlemen 
whose  shoebuckles  he  kissed,  laid  in  their  coffins.  This 
worthy  clergyman  takes  care  to  tell  us  that  he  does  not 
believe  in  his  rehgion,  though,  thank  heaven,  he  is  not  so 
great  a  rogue  as  a  lawyer.  He  goes  on  Mr.  Selwyn's 
errands,  any  errands,  and  is  proud,  he  says,  to  be  that 
gentleman's  proveditor.  He  waits  upon  the  Duke  of 
Queensberry— old  Q.— and  exchanges  pretty  stories 
with  that  aristocrat.     He  comes  home  "  after  a  hard 


76  THE   FOUR   GEORGES 

day's  christening,"  as  he  says,  and  writes  to  his  patron 
before  sitting  down  to  whist  and  partridges  for  supper. 
He  revels  in  the  thoughts  of  ox-cheek  and  burgundy— 
he  is  a  boisterous,  uproarious  parasite,  licks  his  master's 
shoes  with  explosions  of  laughter  and  cunning  smack 
and  gusto,  and  likes  the  taste  of  that  blacking  as  much 
as  the  best  claret  in  old  Q.'s  cellar.  He  has  Rabelais  and 
Horace  at  his  greasy  fingers'  ends.  He  is  inexpressibly 
mean,  curiously  jolly;  kindly  and  good-natured  in  secret 
—a  tender-hearted  knave,  not  a  venomous  hckspittle. 
Jesse  says,  that  at  his  chapel  in  Long  Acre,  "  he  attained 
a  considerable  popularity  by  the  pleasing,  manly,  and 
eloquent  style  of  his  delivery."  Was  infidelity  endemic, 
and  corruption  in  the  air?  Around  a  young  king,  him- 
self of  the  most  exemplary  life  and  undoubted  piety, 
lived  a  court  society  as  dissolute  as  our  country  ever 
knew.  George  II. 's  bad  morals  bore  their  fruit  in 
George  III.'s  early  j^ears;  as  I  believe  that  a  knowledge 
of  that  good  man's  example,  his  moderation,  his  frugal 
simplicitj^,  and  God-fearing  life,  tended  infinitely  to  im- 
prove the  morals  of  the  country  and  purif  j^  the  whole 
nation. 

After  Warner,  the  most  interesting  of  Selwyn's  cor- 
respondents is  the  Earl  of  Carlisle,  grandfather  of  the 
amiable  nobleman  at  present^  Viceroy  in  Ireland.  The 
grandfather,  too,  was  Irish  Viceroy,  having  previously 
been  treasurer  of  the  King's  household;  and,  in  1778,  the 
principal  commissioner  for  treating,  consulting,  and 
agreeing  upon  the  means  of  quieting  the  divisions  sub- 
sisting in  his  Majesty's  colonies,  plantations,  and  pos- 
sessions in  North  America.  You  may  read  his  lordship's 
manifestoes  in  the  Boyal  New  York  Gazette.    He  re- 


GEORGE   THE  THIRD  77 

turned  to  England,  having  by  no  means  quieted  the  col- 
onies; and  speedily  afterwards  the  Royal  New  York 
Gazette  somehow  ceased  to  be  published. 

This  good,  clever,  kind,  highly-bred  Lord  Carlisle  was 
one  of  the  English  fine  gentlemen  who  was  well-nigh 
ruined  by  the  awful  debauchery  and  extravagance  which 
prevailed  in  the  great  English  society  of  those  days.  Its 
dissoluteness  was  awful:  it  had  swarmed  over  Europe 
after  the  Peace ;  it  had  danced,  and  raced,  and  gambled 
in  all  the  courts.  It  had  made  its  bow  at  Versailles;  it 
had  run  its  horses  on  the  plain  of  Sablons,  near  Paris, 
and  created  the  Anglomania  there :  it  had  exported  vast 
quantities  of  pictures  and  marbles  from  Rome  and  Flor- 
ence :  it  had  ruined  itself  by  building  great  galleries  and 
palaces  for  the  reception  of  the  statues  and  pictures:  it 
had  brought  over  singing-women  and  dancing-women 
from  all  the  operas  of  Europe,  on  whom  my  lords  lav- 
ished their  thousands,  whilst  they  left  their  honest  wives 
and  honest  children  languishing  in  the  lonely,  deserted 
splendours  of  the  castle  and  park  at  home. 

Besides  the  great  London  society  of  those  days,  there 
was  another  unacknowledged  world,  extravagant  beyond 
measure,  tearing  about  in  the  pursuit  of  pleasure ;  danc- 
ing, gambhng,  drinking,  singing;  meeting  the  real  so- 
ciety in  the  public  places  (at  Ranelaghs,  Vauxhalls,  and 
Ridottos,  about  which  our  old  novelists  talk  so  con- 
stantly) ,  and  outvying  the  real  leaders  of  fashion  in  lux- 
ury, and  splendour,  and  beauty.  For  instance,  when  the 
famous  Miss  Gunning  visited  Paris  as  Lady  Coventry, 
where  she  expected  that  her  beauty  would  meet  with  the 
applause  which  had  followed  her  and  her  sister  through 
England,  it  appears  she  was  put  to  flight  by  an  English 
lady  still  more  lovely  in  the  eyes  of  the  Parisians.     A 


78  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

certain  Mrs.  Pitt  took  a  box  at  the  opera  opposite  the 
Countess;  and  was  so  much  handsomer  than  her  lady- 
sliip,  that  the  parterre  cried  out  that  this  was  the  real 
English  angel,  whereupon  Lady  Coventry  quitted  Paris 
in  a  huff.  The  poor  thing  died  presently  of  consump- 
tion, accelerated,  it  was  said,  by  the  red  and  white  paint 
with  which  she  plastered  those  luckless  charms  of  hers. 
(We  must  represent  to  ourselves  all  fashionable  female 
Europe,  at  that  time,  as  plastered  with  white,  and  rad- 
dled with  red.)  She  left  two  daughters  behind  her, 
whom  George  Selwyn  loved  (he  was  curiously  fond  of 
little  children),  and  who  are  described  very  drolly  and 
pathetically  in  these  letters,  in  their  little  nursery,  where 
passionate  little  Lady  Fanny,  if  she  had  not  good  cards, 
flung  hers  into  Lady  Mary's  face;  and  where  they  sat 
conspiring  how  they  should  receive  a  new  mother-in-law 
whom  their  papa  presently  brought  home.  They  got  on 
very  well  with  their  mother-in-law,  who  was  very  kind 
to  them ;  and  they  grew  up,  and  they  were  married,  and 
they  were  both  divorced  afterwards— poor  little  souls! 
Poor  painted  mother,  poor  society,  ghastly  in  its  pleas- 
ures, its  loves,  its  revelries! 

As  for  my  lord  commissioner,  we  can  afl'ord  to  speak 
about  him ;  because,  though  he  was  a  wild  and  weak  com- 
missioner at  one  time,  though  he  hurt  his  estate,  though 
he  gambled  and  lost  ten  thousand  pounds  at  a  sitting— 
"  five  times  more,"  says  the  unlucky  gentleman,  "  than 
I  ever  lost  before ;  "  though  he  swore  he  never  would 
touch  a  card  again;  and  yet,  strange  to  say,  went  back 
to  the  table  and  lost  still  more:  yet  he  repented  of  his 
errors,  sobered  down,  and  became  a  worthy  peer  and  a 
good  country  gentleman,  and  returned  to  tlie  good  wife 
and  the  good  children  whom  he  had  always  loved  with 


GEORGE   THE   THIRD  79 

the  best  part  of  his  heart.  He  had  married  at  one-and- 
twenty.  He  found  himself,  in  the  midst  of  a  dissolute 
society,  at  the  head  of  a  great  fortune.  Forced  into  lux- 
ury, and  obliged  to  be  a  great  lord  and  a  great  idler,  he 
yielded  to  some  temptations,  and  paid  for  them  a  bitter 
penalty  of  manly  remorse;  from  some  others  he  fled 
wisely,  and  ended  by  conquering  them  nobly.  But  he 
always  had  the  good  wife  and  children  in  his  mind,  and 
they  saved  him.  "  I  am  very  glad  you  did  not  come  to 
me  the  morning  I  left  London,"  he  writes  to  G.  Selwyn, 
as  he  is  embarking  for  America.  "  I  can  only  say,  I 
never  knew  till  that  moment  of  parting,  what  grief 
was."  There  is  no  parting  now,  where  they  are.  The 
faithful  wife,  the  kind,  generous  gentleman,  have  left  a 
noble  race  behind  them:  an  inheritor  of  his  name  and 
titles,  who  is  beloved  as  widely  as  he  is  known;  a  man 
most  kind,  accomplished,  gentle,  friendly,  and  pure; 
and  female  descendants  occupying  high  stations  and  em- 
bellishing great  names;  some  renowned  for  beauty, 
and  all  for  spotless  lives,  and  pious  matronly  vir- 
tues. 

Another  of  Selwyn's  correspondents  is  the  Earl  of 
March,  afterwards  Duke  of  Queensberry,  whose  life 
lasted  into  this  century;  and  who  certainly  as  earl  or 
duke,  young  man  or  greybeard,  was  not  an  ornament  to 
any  possible  society.  The  legends  about  old  Q.  are  aw- 
ful. In  Selwyn,  in  Wraxall,  and  contemporary  chron- 
icles, the  observer  of  human  nature  may  follow  him, 
drinking,  gambling,  intriguing  to  the  end  of  his  career; 
when  the  wrinkled,  palsied,  toothless  old  Don  Juan  died, 
as  wicked  and  unrepentant  as  he  had  been  at  the  hottest 
season  of  youth  and  passion.  There  is  a  house  in  Pic- 
cadilly, where  they  used  to  show  a  certain  low  window  at 


80  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

which  old  Q.  sat  to  his  very  last  days,  ogling  through  his 
senile  glasses  the  women  as  they  passed  by. 

There  must  have  been  a  great  deal  of  good  about  this 
lazy,  sleepy  George  Selwyn,  which,  no  doubt,  is  set  to  his 
present  credit.  "  Your  friendship,"  writes  Carlisle  to 
him,  "  is  so  different  from  anything  I  have  ever  met  with 
or  seen  in  the  world,  that  when  I  recollect  the  extraor- 
dinary proofs  of  your  kindness,  it  seems  to  me  like  a 
dream."  "  I  have  lost  my  oldest  friend  and  acquain- 
tance, G.  Selwyn,"  writes  Walpole  to  ]\Iiss  Berry:  "  I 
really  loved  him,  not  only  for  his  infinite  wut,  but  for  a 
thousand  good  qualities."  I  am  glad,  for  my  part,  that 
such  a  lover  of  cakes  and  ale  should  have  had  a  thou- 
sand good  qualities— that  he  should  have  been  friendly, 
generous,  warm-hearted,  trustworthy.  "  I  rise  at  six," 
writes  Carlisle  to  him,  from  Spa  (a  great  resort  of  fash- 
ionable people  in  our  ancestors'  days),  "  play  at  cricket 
till  dinner,  and  dance  in  the  evening,  till  I  can  scarcely 
crawl  to  bed  at  eleven.  There  is  a  life  for  you !  You  get 
up  at  nine;  play  with  Raton  your  dog  till  twelve,  in  your 
dressing-gown ;  then  creep  down  to  '  White's ; '  are  five 
hours  at  table ;  sleep  till  supper-time ;  and  then  make  two 
wretches  carry  you  in  a  sedan-chair,  with  three  pints  of 
claret  in  you,  three  miles  for  a  shilling."  Occasionally, 
instead  of  sleeping  at  "  White's,"  George  went  down 
and  snoozed  in  the  House  of  Commons  by  the  side  of 
Lord  North.  He  represented  Gloucester  for  many 
years,  and  had  a  borough  of  his  own,  Ludgershall,  for 
which,  when  he  was  too  lazy  to  contest  Gloucester,  he  sat 
himself.  "  I  have  given  directions  for  the  election  of 
Ludgershall  to  be  of  Lord  ;Melbourne  and  myself,"  he 
writes  to  the  Premier,  whose  friend  he  was,  and  who  was 
himself  as  sleepy,  as  witty,  and  as  good-natured  as 
George. 


GEORGE    THE   THIRD  81 

If,  in  looking  at  the  lives  of  princes,  courtiers,  men  of 
rank  and  fashion,  we  must  perforce  depict  them  as  idle, 
profligate,  and  criminal,  we  must  make  allowances  for 
the  rich  men's  failings,  and  recollect  that  we,  too,  were 
very  likely  indolent  and  voluptuous,  had  we  no  motive 
for  work,  a  mortal's  natural  taste  for  pleasure,  and  the 
daily  temptation  of  a  large  income.  What  could  a  great 
peer,  with  a  great  castle  and  park,  and  a  great  fortune, 
do  but  be  splendid  and  idle?  In  these  letters  of  Lord 
Carlisle's  from  which  I  have  been  quoting,  there  is  many 
a  just  complaint  made  by  the  kind-hearted  young  noble- 
man of  the  state  which  he  is  obliged  to  keep;  the  mag- 
nificence in  which  he  must  live ;  the  idleness  to  which  his 
position  as  a  peer  of  England  bound  him.  Better  for 
him  had  he  been  a  lawyer  at  his  desk,  or  a  clerk  in  his 
office;— a  thousand  times  better  chance  for  happiness, 
education,  employment,  security  from  temptation.  A 
few  years  since  the  profession  of  arms  was  the  only  one 
which  our  nobles  could  follow.  The  church,  the  bar, 
medicine,  literature,  the  arts,  commerce,  were  below 
them.  It  is  to  the  middle  class  we  must  look  for  the 
safety  of  England:  the  working  educated  men,  away 
from  Lord  North's  bribery  in  the  senate;  the  good  clergy 
not  corrupted  into  parasites  by  hopes  of  preferment ;  the 
tradesmen  rising  into  manly  opulence ;  the  painters  pur- 
suing their  gentle  calling:  the  men  of  letters  in  their 
quiet  studies;  these  are  the  men  whom  we  love  and  like 
to  read  of  in  the  last  age.  How  small  the  grandees  and 
the  men  of  pleasure  look  beside  them !  how  contemptible 
the  stories  of  the  George  III.  court  squabbles  are  be- 
side the  recorded  talk  of  dear  old  Johnson !  What  is  the 
grandest  entertainment  at  Windsor,  compared  to  a 
night  at  the  club  over  its  modest  cups,  with  Percy  and 


82  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

Langton,  and  Goldsmith,  and  poor  Bozzy  at  the  table? 
I  declare  I  think,  of  all  the  polite  men  of  that  age,  Joshua 
Reynolds  was  the  finest  gentleman.  And  they  were 
good,  as  M^ell  as  witty  and  wise,  those  dear  old  friends  of 
the  past.  Their  minds  were  not  debauched  by  excess, 
or  eiFeminate  with  luxury.  They  toiled  their  noble  day's 
labour :  they  rested,  and  took  their  kindly  pleasure :  they 
cheered  their  holiday  meetings  with  generous  wit  and 
hearty  interchange  of  thought :  they  were  no  prudes,  but 
no  blush  need  follow  their  conversation:  they  were 
merry,  but  no  riot  came  out  of  their  cups.  Ah !  I  would 
have  liked  a  night  at  the  "  Turk's  Head,"  even  though 
bad  news  had  arrived  from  the  colonies,  and  Doctor 
Johnson  was  growling  against  the  rebels;  to  have  sat 
with  him  and  Goldy;  and  to  have  heard  Burke,  the  finest 
talker  in  the  world ;  and  to  have  had  Garrick  flashing  in 
with  a  story  from  his  theatre!— I  like,  I  say,  to  think  of 
that  society ;  and  not  merely  how  pleasant  and  how  wise, 
but  how  good  they  were.  I  think  it  was  on  going  home 
one  night  from  the  club  that  Edmund  Burke— his  noble 
soul  full  of  great  thoughts,  be  sure,  for  they  never  left 
him;  his  heart  full  of  gentleness— was  accosted  by  a  poor 
wandering  woman,  to  whom  he  spoke  words  of  kindness; 
and  moved  by  the  tears  of  this  Magdalen,  perhaps  hav- 
ing caused  them  by  the  good  words  he  spoke  to  her,  he 
took  her  home  to  the  house  of  his  wife  and  children,  and 
never  left  her  until  he  had  found  the  means  of  restoring 
her  to  honesty  and  labour.  O  you  fine  gentlemen !  you 
Marches,  and  Selwyns,  and  Chesterfields,  how  small  you 
look  by  the  side  of  these  great  men!  Good-natured  Car- 
lisle plays  at  cricket  all  day,  and  dances  in  the  evening 
"  till  he  can  scarcely  crawl,"  gaily  contrasting  his  su- 
perior virtue  with  George  Selwyn's,  "  carried  to  bed  by 


GEORGE   THE   THIRD  83 

two  wretches  at  midnight  with  three  pints  of  claret  in 
him."  Do  you  remember  the  verses— the  sacred  verses— 
which  Johnson  wrote  on  the  death  of  his  humble  friend, 
Levett? 

"  Well  tried  through  many  a  varying  year, 
See  Levett  to  the  grave  descend ; 
Officious,  innocent,  sincere. 

Of  every  friendless  name  the  friend. 

"  In  misery's  darkest  cavern  known, 
His  useful  care  was  ever  nigh. 
Where  hopeless  anguish  poured  the  groan, 
And  lonely  want  retired  to  die. 

"  No  summons  mocked  by  chill  delay, 
No  petty  gain  disdained  by  pride, 
The  modest  wants  of  every  day 
The  toil  of  every  day  supplied. 

"  His  virtues  walked  their  narrow  round, 
Nor  made  a  pause,  nor  left  a  void ; 
And  sure  the  Eternal  Master  found 
His  single  talent  well  employed." 

Whose  name  looks  the  brightest  now,  that  of  Queens- 
berry  the  wealthy  duke,  or  Selwyn  the  wit,  or  Levett  the 
poor  physician? 

I  hold  old  Johnson  (and  shall  we  not  pardon  James 
Boswell  some  errors  for  embalming  him  for  us?)  to  be 
the  great  supporter  of  the  British  monarchy  and  church 
during  the  last  age— better  than  whole  benches  of 
bishops,  better  than  Pitts,  Norths,  and  the  great  Burke 
himself.  Johnson  had  the  ear  of  the  nation:  his  im- 
mense authority  reconciled  it  to  loyalty,  and  shamed  it 
out  of  irreligion.    When  George  III.  talked  with  him, 


84  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

and  the  people  heard  the  great  author's  good  opinion  of 
the  sovereign,  whole  generations  rallied  to  the  King. 
Johnson  was  revered  as  a  sort  of  oracle;  and  the  oracle 
declared  for  church  and  king.  What  a  humanity  the 
old  man  had!  He  was  a  kindly  partaker  of  all  honest 
pleasures:  a  fierce  foe  to  all  sin,  but  a  gentle  enemy  to 
all  sinners.  "  What,  boys,  are  you  for  a  frolic?  "  he 
cries,  when  Topham  Beauclerc  comes  and  wakes  him  up 
at  midnight:  "  I'm  with  you."  And  away  he  goes, 
tumbles  on  his  homely  old  clothes,  and  trundles  through 
Covent  Garden  with  the  young  fellows.  When  he  used 
to  frequent  Garrick's  theatre,  and  had  "  the  liberty  of 
the  scenes,"  he  says,  "  All  the  actresses  knew  me,  and 
dropped  me  a  curtsey  as  they  passed  to  the  stage."  That 
would  make  a  pretty  picture :  it  is  a  pretty  picture  in  my 
mind,  of  youth,  folly,  gaiety,  tenderly  surveyed  by  wis- 
dom's merciful,  pure  eyes. 

George  III.  and  his  Queen  lived  in  a  very  unpretend- 
ing but  elegant-looking  house,  on  the  site  of  the  hideous 
pile  under  which  his  granddaughter  at  present  reposes. 
The  King's  mother  inhabited  Carlton  House,  which 
contemporary  prints  represent  with  a  perfect  paradise 
of  a  garden,  with  trim  lawns,  green  arcades,  and  vistas 
of  classic  statues.  She  admired  these  in  company  with 
my  Lord  Bute,  who  had  a  fine  classic  taste,  and  some- 
times counsel  took  and  sometimes  tea  in  the  pleasant 
green  arbours  along  with  that  polite  nobleman.  Bute 
was  hated  with  a  rage  of  which  there  have  been  few  ex- 
amples in  English  history.  He  was  the  butt  for  every- 
body's abuse;  for  Wilkes's  devilish  mischief;  for 
Churchill's  slashing  satire;  for  the  hooting  of  the  mob 
that  roasted  the  boot,  his  emblem,  in  a  thousand  bonfires ; 
that  hated  him  because  he  was  a  favourite  and  a  Scotch- 


GEORGE   THE   THIRD  85 

man,  calling  him  "  Mortimer,"  "  Lothario,"  I  know  not 
what  names,  and  accusing  his  royal  mistress  of  all  sorts 
of  crimes— the  grave,  lean,  demure  elderly  woman,  who, 
I  dare  say,  was  quite  as  good  as  her  neighbours.  Chat- 
ham lent  the  aid  of  his  great  malice  to  influence  the  popu- 
lar sentiment  against  her.  He  assailed,  in  the  House  of 
Lords,  "  the  secret  influence,  more  mighty  than  the 
throne  itself,  which  betrayed  and  clogged  every  admin- 
istration." The  most  furious  pamphlets  echoed  the  cry. 
"  Impeach  the  King's  mother,"  was  scribbled  over  every 
wall  at  the  Court  end  of  the  town,  Walpole  tells  us. 
What  had  she  done?  What  had  Frederick,  Prince  of 
Wales,  George's  father,  done,  that  he  was  so  loathed  by 
George  II.  and  never  mentioned  by  George  III.?  Let 
us  not  seek  for  stones  to  batter  that  forgotten  grave,  but 
acquiesce  in  the  contemporary  epitaph  over  him:— 

"  Here  lies  Fred, 
Who  was  alive,  and  is  dead. 
Had  it  been  his  father, 
I  had  much  rather. 
Had  it  been  his  brother. 
Still  better  than  another. 
Had  it  been  his  sister, 
No  one  would  have  missed  her. 
Had  it  been  the  whole  generation. 
Still  better  for  the  nation. 
But  since  'tis  only  Fred, 
Who  was  alive,  and  is  dead, 
There's  no  more  to  be  said." 

The  widow  with  eight  children  round  her,  prudently 
reconciled  herself  with  the  King,  and  won  the  old  man's 
confidence  and  good-will.    A  shrewd,  hard,  domineer- 


86  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

ing,  narrow-minded  woman,  she  educated  her  children 
according  to  her  lights,  and  spoke  of  the  eldest  as  a  dull, 
good  boy :  she  kept  him  very  close :  she  held  the  tightest 
rein  over  him;  she  had  curious  prejudices  and  bigotries. 
His  uncle,  the  burly  Cumberland,  taking  down  a  sabre 
once,  and  drawing  it  to  amuse  the  child — the  boy  started 
back  and  turned  pale.  The  Prince  felt  a  generous 
shock:  "  What  must  they  have  told  him  about  me? "  he 
asked. 

His  mother's  bigotry  and  hatred  he  inherited  with  the 
courageous  obstinacy  of  his  own  race ;  but  he  was  a  firm 
believer  where  his  fathers  had  been  free-thinkers,  and  a 
true  and  fond  supporter  of  the  Church,  of  which  he  was 
the  titular  defender.  Like  other  dull  men,  the  King  was 
all  his  life  suspicious  of  superior  people.  He  did  not 
like  Fox ;  he  did  not  like  Reynolds ;  he  did  not  like  Nel- 
son, Chatham,  Burke;  he  was  testy  at  the  idea  of  all 
innovations,  and  suspicious  of  all  innovators.  He  loved 
mediocrities;  Benjamin  West  was  his  favourite  painter; 
Beattie  was  his  poet.  The  King  lamented,  not  without 
pathos,  in  his  after  life,  that  his  education  had  been 
neglected.  He  was  a  dull  lad  brought  up  by  narrow- 
minded  people.  The  cleverest  tutors  in  the  world  could 
have  done  little  probably  to  expand  that  small  intellect, 
though  they  might  have  improved  his  tastes,  and  taught 
his  perceptions  some  generosity. 

But  he  admired  as  well  as  he  could.  There  is  little 
doubt  that  a  letter,  written  by  the  little  Princess  Char- 
lotte of  ^lecklenburg  Strelitz,— a  letter  containing  the 
most  feeble  commonplaces  about  the  horrors  of  war,  and 
the  most  trivial  remarks  on  the  blessings  of  peace,  struck 
the  young  monarch  greatly,  and  decided  him  upon  se- 
lecting the  young  Princess  as  the  sharer  of  his  throne. 


GEORGE  THE   THIRD  87 

I  pass  over  the  stories  of  his  juvenile  loves— of  Hannah 
Lightf  oot,  the  Quaker,  to  whom  they  say  he  was  actually 
married  (though  I  don't  know  who  has  ever  seen  the 
register)  — of  lovely  black-haired  Sarah  Lennox,  about 
whose  beauty  Walpole  has  written  in  raptures,  and  who 
used  to  lie  in  wait  for  the  young  Prince,  and  make  hay 
at  him  on  the  lawn  of  Holland  House.  He  sighed  and 
he  longed,  but  he  rode  away  from  her.  Her  picture  still 
hangs  in  Holland  House,  a  magnificent  master-piece  of 
Reynolds,  a  canvas  worthy  of  Titian.  She  looks  from 
the  castle  window,  holding  a  bird  in  her  hand,  at  black- 
eyed  young  Charles  Fox,  her  nephew.  The  royal  bird 
flew  away  from  lovely  Sarah.  She  had  to  figure  as 
bridesmaid  at  her  little  Mecklenburg  rival's  wedding, 
and  died  in  our  own  time  a  quiet  old  lady,  who  had 
become  the  mother  of  the  heroic  Napiers. 

They  say  the  little  Princess  who  had  written  the  fine 
letter  about  the  horrors  of  war— a  beautiful  letter  with- 
out a  single  blot,  for  which  she  was  to  be  rewarded,  like 
the  heroine  of  the  old  spelling-book  story— was  at  play 
one  day  with  some  of  her  young  companions  in  the  gar- 
dens of  Strelitz,  and  that  the  young  ladies'  conversation 
was,  strange  to  say,  about  husbands.  "  Who  will  take 
such  a  poor  little  princess  as  me?  "  Charlotte  said  to  her 
friend,  Ida  von  Bulow,  and  at  that  very  moment  the 
postman's  horn  sounded,  and  Ida  said,  "  Princess!  there 
is  the  sweetheart."  As  she  said,  so  it  actually  turned  out. 
The  postman  brought  letters  from  the  splendid  young 
King  of  all  England,  who  said,  "  Princess!  because  you 
have  written  such  a  beautiful  letter,  which  does  credit  to 
your  head  and  heart,  come  and  be  Queen  of  Great  Brit- 
ain, France,  and  Ireland,  and  the  true  wife  of  your 
most  obedient  servant,  George!"     So  she  jumped  for 


88  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

joy;  and  went  upstairs  and  packed  all  her  little  trunks; 
and  set  off  straightway  for  her  kingdom  in  a  beautiful 
yacht,  with  a  harpsichord  on  board  for  her  to  play  upon, 
and  around  her  a  beautiful  fleet,  all  covered  with  flags 
and  streamers :  and  the  distinguished  Madame  Auerbach 
complimented  her  with  an  ode,  a  translation  of  which 
may  be  read  in  the  Gentleman  s  Magazine  to  the  present 
day:— 

"  Her   gallant   navy   through  the  main 

Now  cleaves  its  liquid  way. 
There  to  their  queen  a  chosen  train 

Of  nymphs  due  reverence  pay. 

"  Europa,  when  conveyed  by  Jove 
To    Crete's    distinguished    shore. 
Greater  attention  scarce  could  prove. 
Or  be  respected  more." 

They  met,  and  they  were  married,  and  for  years  they 
led  the  happiest,  simplest  lives  sure  ever  led  by  married 
couple.  It  is  said  the  King  winced  when  he  first  saw  his 
homely  little  bride;  but,  however  that  may  be,  he  was  a 
true  and  faithful  husband  to  her,  as  she  was  a  faithful 
and  loving  wife.  They  had  the  simplest  pleasures— the 
very  mildest  and  simplest— little  country  dances,  to 
which  a  dozen  couple  were  invited,  and  where  the  honest 
King  would  stand  up  and  dance  for  three  hours  at  a  time 
to  one  tune ;  after  which  delicious  excitement  they  would 
go  to  bed  without  any  supper  (the  Court  people  grum- 
bling sadly  at  that  absence  of  supper),  and  get  up  quite 
early  the  next  morning,  and  perhaps  the  next  night  have 
another  dance;  or  the  Queen  would  play  on  the  spinet- 
she  played  pretty  well,  Haydn  said  — or  the  King  would 
read  to  her  a  paper  out  of  the  Spectator,  or  perhaps  one 


GEORGE   THE  THIRD  89 

of  Ogden's  sermons.  O  Arcadia!  what  a  life  it  must 
have  been !  There  used  to  be  Sunday  drawing-rooms  at 
Court;  but  the  young  King  stopped  these,  as  he  stopped 
all  that  godless  gambling  whereof  we  have  made  men- 
tion. Not  that  George  was  averse  to  any  innocent  plea- 
sures, or  pleasures  which  he  thought  innocent.  He  was  a 
patron  of  the  arts,  after  his  fashion;  kind  and  gracious 
to  the  artists  whom  he  favoured,  and  respectful  to  their 
calling.  He  wanted  once  to  establish  an  Order  of  Mi- 
nerva for  literary  and  scientific  characters;  the  knights 
were  to  take  rank  after  the  knights  of  the  Bath,  and  to 
sport  a  straw-coloured  ribbon  and  a  star  of  sixteen 
points.  But  there  was  such  a  row  amongst  the  literati 
as  to  the  persons  who  should  be  appointed,  that  the  plan 
was  given  up,  and  Minerva  and  her  star  never  came 
down  amongst  us. 

He  objected  to  painting  St.  Paul's,  as  Popish  prac- 
tice; accordingly,  the  most  clumsy  heathen  sculptures 
decorate  that  edifice  at  present.  It  is  fortunate  that  the 
paintings,  too,  were  spared,  for  painting  and  drawing 
were  wofully  unsound  at  the  close  of  the  last  century; 
and  it  is  far  better  for  our  eyes  to  contemplate  whitewash 
(when  we  turn  them  away  from  the  clergyman)  than  to 
look  at  Opie's  pitchy  canvases,  or  Fuseli's  livid  monsters. 

And  yet  there  is  one  day  in  the  year— a  day  when  old 
George  loved  with  all  his  heart  to  attend  it— when  I 
think  St.  Paul's  presents  the  noblest  sight  in  the  whole 
world:  when  five  thousand  charity  children,  with  cheeks 
like  nosegays,  and  sweet,  fresh  voices,  sing  the  hymn 
which  makes  every  heart  thrill  with  praise  and  hap- 
piness. I  have  seen  a  hundred  grand  sights  in  the  world 
—coronations,  Parisian  splendours,  Crystal  Palace 
openings.  Pope's  chapels  with  their  processions  of  long- 


90  THE  FOUR  GEORGES 

tailed  cardinals  and  quavering  choirs  of  fat  soprani— 
but  think  in  all  Christendom  there  is  no  such  sight  as 
Charity  Children's  Day.  Non  Angli,  sed  angeli.  As 
one  looks  at  that  beautiful  multitude  of  innocents:  as 
the  first  note  strikes :  indeed  one  may  almost  fancy  that 
cherubs  are  singing. 

Of  church  music  the  King  was  always  very  fond, 
showing  skill  in  it  both  as  a  critic  and  a  performer. 
Many  stories,  mirthful  and  affecting,  are  told  of  his  be- 
haviour at  the  concerts  which  he  ordered.  When  he  was 
blind  and  ill  he  chose  the  music  for  the  Ancient  Concerts 
once,  and  the  music  and  words  which  he  selected  were 
from  "  Samson  Agonistes,"  and  all  had  reference  to  his 
blindness,  his  captivity,  and  his  affliction.  He  would 
beat  time  with  his  music-roll  as  they  sang  the  anthem  in 
the  Chapel  Royal.  If  the  page  below  was  talkative  or 
inattentive,  down  would  come  the  music-roll  on  young 
scapegrace's  powdered  head.  The  theatre  was  always 
his  delight.  His  bishops  and  clergy  used  to  attend  it, 
thinking  it  no  shame  to  appear  where  that  good  man  was 
seen.  He  is  said  not  to  have  cared  for  Shakspeare  or 
tragedy  much;  farces  and  pantomimes  were  his  joy;  and 
especially  when  clown  swallowed  a  carrot  or  a  string  of 
sausages,  he  would  laugh  so  outrageously  that  the  lovely 
Princess  by  his  side  would  have  to  say,  "  My  gracious 
monarch,  do  compose  yourself."  But  he  continued  to 
laugh,  and  at  the  very  smallest  farces,  as  long  as  his 
poor  wits  were  left  him. 

There  is  something  to  me  exceedingly  touching  in  that 
simple  early  life  of  the  King's.  As  long  as  his  mother 
lived— a  dozen  years  after  his  marriage  with  the  little 
spinet-player— he  was  a  great,  shy,  awkward  boy,  under 
the  tutelage  of  that  hard  parent.     She  must  have  been 


GEORGE   THE   THIRD  91 

a  clever,  domineering,  cruel  woman.  She  kept  her 
household  lonely  and  in  gloom,  mistrusting  almost  all 
people  who  came  about  her  children.  Seeing  the  young 
Duke  of  Gloucester  silent  and  unhappy  once,  she  sharply 
asked  him  the  cause  of  his  silence.  "  I  am  thinking," 
said  the  poor  child.  "  Thinking,  sir!  and  of  what?"  "I 
am  thinking  if  ever  I  have  a  son  I  will  not  make  him  so 
unhappy  as  you  make  me."  The  other  sons  were  all 
wild,  except  George.  Dutifully  every  evening  George 
and  Charlotte  paid  their  visit  to  the  King's  mother  at 
Carlton  House.  She  had  a  throat-complaint,  of  which 
she  died;  but  to  the  last  persisted  in  driving  about  the 
streets  to  show  she  was  alive.  The  night  before  her  death 
the  resolute  woman  talked  with  her  son  and  daughter-in- 
law  as  usual,  went  to  bed,  and  was  found  dead  there  in 
the  morning.  "George,  be  a  king!"  were  the  words 
which  she  was  for  ever  croaking  in  the  ears  of  her  son: 
and  a  king  the  simple,  stubborn,  affectionate,  bigoted 
man  tried  to  be. 

He  did  his  best;  he  worked  according  to  his  lights; 
what  virtue  he  knew,  he  tried  to  practise;  what  know- 
ledge he  could  master,  he  strove  to  acquire.  He  was  for 
ever  drawing  maps,  for  example,  and  learned  geogra- 
phy with  no  small  care  and  industry.  He  knew  all  about 
the  family  histories  and  genealogies  of  his  gentry,  and 
pretty  histories  he  must  have  known.  He  knew  the 
whole  Army  List;  and  all  the  facings,  and  the  exact 
number  of  the  buttons,  and  all  the  tags  and  laces,  and 
the  cut  of  all  the  cocked  hats,  pigtails,  and  gaiters  in  his 
army.  He  knew  the  personnel  of  the  Universities ;  what 
doctors  were  inclined  to  Socinianism,  and  who  were 
sound  Churchmen;  he  knew  the  etiquettes  of  his  own 
and  his  grandfather's  courts  to  a  nicety,  and  the  small- 


92  THE   FOUR   GEORGES 

est  particulars  regarding  the  routine  of  ministers,  sec- 
retaries, embassies,  audiences;  the  humblest  page  in  the 
anteroom,  or  the  meanest  helper  in  the  stables  or  kitchen. 
These  parts  of  the  royal  business  he  was  capable  of 
learning,  and  he  learned.  But,  as  one  thinks  of  an  office, 
almost  divine,  performed  by  any  mortal  man— of  any 
single  being  pretending  to  control  the  thoughts,  to  direct 
the  faith,  to  order  the  implicit  obedience  of  brother  mil- 
lions, to  compel  them  into  war  at  his  offence  or  quarrel; 
to  command,  "  In  this  way  you  shall  trade,  in  this  way 
you  shall  think;  these  neighbours  shall  be  your  alhes 
whom  you  shall  help,  these  others  your  enemies  whom 
you  shall  slay  at  my  orders ;  in  this  way  you  shall  worship 
God;"— who  can  wonder  that,  M^hen  such  a  man  as 
George  took  such  an  office  on  himself,  punishment  and 
humiliation  should  fall  upon  people  and  chief? 

Yet  there  is  something  grand  about  his  courage.  The 
battle  of  the  King  with  his  aristocracy  remains  yet  to  be 
told  by  the  historian  who  shall  view  the  reign  of  George 
more  justly  than  the  trumpery  panegyrists  who  wrote  im- 
mediately after  his  decease.  It  was  he,  with  the  people  to 
back  him,  who  made  the  war  with  America ;  it  was  he  and 
the  people  who  refused  justice  to  the  Roman  Catholics; 
and  on  both  questions  he  beat  the  patricians.  He  bribed : 
he  bullied:  he  darkly  dissembled  on  occasion:  he  exer- 
cised a  slippery  perseverance,  and  a  vindictive  resolu- 
tion, which  one  almost  admires  as  one  thinks  his  char- 
acter over.  His  courage  was  never  to  be  beat.  It  tram- 
pled North  under  foot:  it  beat  the  stiff  neck  of  the 
younger  Pitt:  even  his  illness  never  conquered  that  in- 
domitable spirit.  As  soon  as  his  brain  was  clear,  it  re- 
sumed the  scheme,  only  laid  aside  when  his  reason  left 
him :  as  soon  as  his  hands  were  out  of  the  strait  waistcoat, 


GEORGE   THE   THIRD  93 

they  took  up  the  pen  and  the  plan  which  had  engaged 
him  up  to  the  moment  of  his  malady.  I  helieve  it  is  by 
persons  believing  themselves  in  the  right  that  nine-tenths 
of  the  tyranny  of  this  world  has  been  perpetrated.  Ar- 
guing on  that  convenient  premiss,  the  Dey  of  Algiers 
would  cut  off  twenty  heads  of  a  morning ;  Father  Dom- 
inic would  burn  a  score  of  Jews  in  the  presence  of  the 
Most  Catholic  King,  and  the  Archbishops  of  Toledo  and 
Salamanca  sing  Amen.  Protestants  were  roasted, 
Jesuits  hung  and  quartered  at  Smithfield,  and  witches 
burned  at  Salem,  and  all  by  worthy  people,  who  believed 
they  had  the  best  authority  for  their  actions. 

And  so,  with  respect  to  old  George,  even  Americans, 
whom  he  hated  and  who  conquered  him,  may  give  him 
credit  for  having  quite  honest  reasons  for  oppressing 
them.  Appended  to  Lord  Brougham's  biographical 
sketch  of  Lord  North  are  some  autograph  notes  of  the 
King,  which  let  us  most  curiously  into  the  state  of  his 
mind.  "  The  times  certainly  require,"  says  he,  "  the  con- 
currence of  all  who  w^ish  to  prevent  anarchy.  I  have  no 
wish  but  the  prosperity  of  my  own  dominions,  therefore 
I  must  look  upon  all  who  would  not  heartily  assist  me  as 
bad  men,  as  well  as  bad  subjects."  That  is  the  way  he 
reasoned.  "  I  wish  nothing  but  good,  therefore  every 
man  who  does  not  agree  with  me  is  a  traitor  and  a  scoun- 
drel." Remember  that  he  believed  himself  anointed  by 
a  Divine  commission;  remember  that  he  was  a  man  of 
slow  parts  and  imperfect  education;  that  the  same 
awful  will  of  Heaven  which  placed  a  crown  upon  his 
head,  which  made  him  tender  to  his  family,  pure  in  his 
life,  courageous  and  honest,  made  him  dull  of  compre- 
hension, obstinate  of  will,  and  at  many  times  deprived 
him  of  reason.    He  was  the  father  of  his  people ;  his  re- 


94  THE  FOUR  GEORGES 

bellious  children  must  be  flogged  into  obedience.  He 
was  the  defender  of  the  Protestant  faith;  he  would 
rather  lay  that  stout  head  upon  the  block  than  that 
Catholics  should  have  a  share  in  the  government  of  Eng- 
land. And  you  do  not  suppose  that  there  are  not  honest 
bigots  enough  in  all  countries  to  back  kings  in  this  kind 
of  statesmanship?  Without  doubt  the  American  war 
was  popular  in  England.  In  1775  the  address  in  favour 
of  coercing  the  colonies  was  carried  by  304  to  105  in  the 
Commons,  by  104  to  29  in  the  House  of  Lords.  Popu- 
lar?—so  was  the  Revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes 
popular  in  France :  so  was  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholo- 
mew: so  was  the  Inquisition  exceedingly  popular  in 
Spain. 

Wars  and  revolutions  are,  however,  the  politician's 
province.  The  great  events  of  this  long  reign,  the  states- 
men and  orators  who  illustrated  it,  I  do  not  pretend  to 
make  the  subjects  of  an  hour's  light  talk.^  Let  us  re- 
turn to  our  humble  duty  of  court  gossip.  Yonder  sits 
our  little  Queen,  surrounded  by  many  stout  sons  and  fair 
daughters  whom  she  bore  to  her  faithful  George.  The 
history  of  the  daughters,  as  little  Miss  Burney  has 
painted  them  to  us,  is  delightful.  They  were  handsome 
—she  calls  them  beautiful;  they  were  most  kind,  loving, 
and  lady -like;  they  were  gracious  to  every  person,  high 
and  low,  who  served  them.  They  had  many  little  accom- 
plishments of  their  own.  This  one  drew :  that  one  played 
the  piano:  they  all  worked  most  prodigiously,  and  fitted 
up  whole  suites  of  rooms— pretty,  smiling  Penelopes,— 
with  their  busy  little  needles.  As  we  picture  to  ourselves 
the  society  of  eighty  years  ago,  we  must  imagine  hun- 

1  On  the  next  page  are  the  figures,  as  drawn  by  young  Gilray,  of  Lord 
North,  Mr.  Fox,  Mr.  Pitt,  and  Mr.  Burke. 


96  THE   FOUR   GEORGES 

dreds  of  thousands  of  groups  of  women  in  great  high 
caps,  tight  bodies,  and  full  skirts,  needling  away,  whilst 
one  of  the  number,  or  perhaps  a  favoured  gentleman  in 
a  pigtail,  reads  out  a  novel  to  the  company.    Peep  into 
the  cottage  at  Olney,  for  example,  and  see  there  Mrs. 
Unwin  and  Lady  Hesketh,  those  high-bred  ladies,  those 
sweet,  pious  women,  and  William  Cowper,  that  delicate 
wit,  that  trembling  pietist,  that  refined  gentleman,  abso- 
lutely reading  out  Jonathan  Wild  to  the  ladies !    What 
a  change  in  our  manners,  in  our  amusements,  since  then ! 
King  George's  household  was  a  model  of  an  English 
gentleman's  household.  It  was  early;  it  was  kindly;  it 
was  charitable;  it  was  frugal;  it  was  orderly;  it  must 
have  been  stupid  to  a  degree  which  I  shudder  now  to 
contemplate.    No  wonder  all  the  princes  ran  away  from 
the  lap  of  that  dreary  domestic  virtue.     It  always  rose, 
rode,  dined  at  stated  intervals.    Day  after  day  was  the 
same.     At  the  same  hour  at  night  the  King  kissed  his 
daughters'    jolly    cheeks;    the    Princesses   kissed    their 
mother's  hand ;  and  Madame  Thielke  brought  the  royal 
nightcap.    At  the  same  hour  the  equerries  and  women 
in  waiting  had  their  little  dinner,  and  cackled  over  their 
tea.    The  King  had  his  backgammon  or  his  evening  con- 
cert; the  equerries  yawned  themselves  to  death  in  the 
anteroom ;  or  the  King  and  his  family  walked  on  Wind- 
sor slopes,  the  King  holding  his  darling  little  Princess 
Ameha  by  the  hand;  and  the  people  crowded  round 
quite  good-naturedly;  and  the  Eton  boys  thrust  their 
chubby  cheeks  under  the  crowd's  elbows;  and  the  concert 
over,  the  King  never  failed  to  take  his  enormous  cocked- 
hat  off,  and  salute  his  band,  and  say,  "  Thank  you,  gen- 
tlemen." 

A  quieter  household,  a  more  prosaic  life  than  this  of 


GEORGE   THE   THIRD  97 

Kew  or  Windsor,  cannot  be  imagined.  Rain  or  shine, 
the  King  rode  every  day  for  hours;  poked  his  red  face 
into  hundreds  of  cottages  round  about,  and  showed  that 
shovel  hat  and  Windsor  uniform  to  farmers,  to  pig- 
boys,  to  old  women  making  apple  dumplings ;  to  all  sorts 
of  people,  gentle  and  simple,  about  whom  countless  sto- 
ries are  told.  Nothing  can  be  more  undignified  than  these 
stories.  When  Haroun  Alraschid  visits  a  subject  incog., 
the  latter  is  sure  to  be  very  much  the  better  for  the 
caliph's  magnificence.  Old  George  showed  no  such 
royal  splendour.  He  used  to  give  a  guinea  sometimes: 
sometimes  feel  in  his  pockets  and  find  he  had  no  money : 
often  ask  a  man  a  hundred  questions :  about  the  number 
of  his  family,  about  his  oats  and  beans,  about  the  rent 
he  paid  for  his  house,  and  ride  on.  On  one  occasion  he 
played  the  part  of  King  Alfred,  and  turned  a  piece  of 
meat  with  a  string  at  a  cottager's  house.  When  the  old 
woman  came  home,  she  found  a  paper  with  an  enclosure 
of  money,  and  a  note  written  by  the  royal  pencil:  "  Five 
guineas  to  buy  a  jack."  It  was  not  splendid,  but  it  was 
kind  and  worthy  of  Farmer  George.  One  day,  when 
the  King  and  Queen  were  walking  together,  they  met  a 
little  boy— they  were  always  fond  of  children,  the  good 
folks— and  patted  the  little  white  head.  "  Whose  httle 
boy  are  you? "  asks  the  Windsor  uniform.  "  I  am  the 
King's  beefeater's  little  boy,"  replied  the  child.  On 
which  the  King  said,  "  Then  kneel  down,  and  kiss  the 
Queen's  hand."  But  the  innocent  offspring  of  the  beef- 
eater declined  this  treat.  "  No,"  said  he,  "  I  won't 
kneel,  for  if  I  do,  I  shall  spoil  my  new  breeches."  The 
thrifty  King  ought  to  have  hugged  him  and  knighted 
him  on  the  spot.  George's  admirers  wrote  pages  and 
pages  of  such  stories  about  him.    One  morning,  before 


98  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

anybody  else  was  up,  the  King  walked  about  Gloucester 
town;  pushed  over  Molly  the  housemaid  with  her  pail, 
who  was  scrubbing  the  doorsteps ;  ran  upstairs  and  woke 
all  the  equerries  in  their  bedrooms;  and  then  trotted 
down  to  the  bridge,  where,  by  this  time,  a  dozen  of  louts 
were  assembled.  "What!  is  this  Gloucester  New 
Bridge  ?  "  asked  our  gracious  monarch ;  and  the  people 
answered  him,  "  Yes,  your  Majesty."  "  Why,  then,  my 
boys,"  said  he,  "  let  us  have  a  huzzay!  "  After  giving 
them  which  intellectual  gratification,  he  went  home  to 
breakfast.  Our  fathers  read  these  simple  tales  with 
fond  pleasure;  laughed  at  these  very  small  jokes;  liked 
the  old  man  who  poked  his  nose  into  every  cottage ;  who 
lived  on  plain  wholesome  roast  and  boiled ;  who  despised 
your  French  kickshaws ;  who  was  a  true  hearty  old  Eng- 
lish gentleman.  You  may  have  seen  Gilray's  famous 
print  of  him— in  the  old  wig,  in  the  stout  old  hideous 
Windsor  uniform— as  the  King  of  Brobdingnag,  peer- 
ing at  a  little  Gulliver,  whom  he  holds  up  in  his  hand, 
whilst  in  the  other  he  has  an  opera-glass,  through  which 
he  surveys  the  pigmy?  Our  fathers  chose  to  set  up 
George  as  the  type  of  a  great  king ;  and  the  little  Gulli- 
ver was  the  great  Napoleon.  We  prided  ourselves  on 
our  prejudices;  we  blustered  and  bragged  with  absurd 
vainglory;  we  dealt  to  our  enemy  a  monstrous  injustice 
of  contempt  and  scorn ;  we  fought  him  with  all  weapons, 
mean  as  well  as  heroic.  There  was  no  lie  we  would  not 
believe;  no  charge  of  crime  which  our  furious  prejudice 
would  not  credit.  I  thought  at  one  time  of  making  a 
collection  of  the  lies  which  the  French  had  written 
against  us,  and  we  had  published  against  them  during 
the  war:  it  would  be  a  strange  memorial  of  popular 
falsehood. 


A  Little  Retel 


GEORGE   THE   THIRD  99 

Their  Majesties  were  very  scK:iable  potentates:  and 
the  Court  Chronicler  tells  of  numerous  visits  which  they 
paid  to  their  subjects,  gentle  and  simple:  with  whom  they 
dined;  at  whose  great  country-houses  they  stopped;  or 
at  whose  poorer  lodgings  they  affably  partook  of  tea  and 
bread-and-butter.  Some  of  the  great  folks  spent  enor- 
mous sums  in  entertaining  their  sovereigns.  As  marks 
of  special  favour,  the  King  and  Queen  sometimes  stood 
as  sponsors  for  the  children  of  the  nobility.  We  find 
Lady  Salisbury  was  so  honoured  in  the  year  1786;  and 
in  the  year  1802,  Lady  Chesterfield.  The  Court  News 
relates  how  her  ladyship  received  their  Majesties  on  a 
state  bed  "  dressed  with  white  satin  and  a  profusion  of 
lace:  the  counterpane  of  white  satin  embroidered  with 
gold,  and  the  bed  of  crimson  satin  lined  with  white." 
The  child  was  first  brought  by  the  nurse  to  the  Mar- 
chioness of  Bath,  who  presided  as  chief  nurse.  Then 
the  Marchioness  handed  baby  to  the  Queen.  Then  the 
Queen  handed  the  little  darling  to  the  Bishop  of 
Norwich,  the  officiating  clergyman;  and,  the  cere- 
mony over,  a  cup  of  caudle  was  presented  by  the 
Earl  to  his  Majesty  on  one  knee,  on  a  large  gold 
waiter,  placed  on  a  crimson  velvet  cushion.  ^lis- 
fortunes  would  occur  in  these  interesting  genuflec- 
tory  ceremonies  of  royal  worship.  Bubb  Dodding- 
ton.  Lord  Melcombe,  a  very  fat,  puffy  man,  in  a 
most  gorgeous  court-suit,  had  to  kneel,  Cumberland 
says,  and  was  so  fat  and  so  tight  that  he  could  not  get  up 
again.  "  Kneel,  sir,  kneel!  "  cried  my  lord  in  waiting  to 
a  country  mayor  who  had  to  read  an  address,  but  who 
went  on  with  his  compliment  standing.  "  Kneel,  sir, 
kneel!"  cries  my  lord,  in  dreadful  alarm.  "I  can't!"  says 
the  mayor,  turning  round;  "  don't  you  see  I  have  got  a 


100  THE  FOUR  GEORGES 

wooden  leg?"  In  the  capital  "Burney  Diary  and  Let- 
ters," the  home  and  court  life  of  good  old  King  George 
and  good  old  Queen  Charlotte  are  presented  at  porten- 
tous length.  The  King  rose  every  morning  at  six:  and 
had  two  hours  to  himself.  He  thought  it  eiFeminate  to 
have  a  carpet  in  his  bedroom.  Shortly  before  eight,  the 
Queen  and  the  royal  family  were  always  ready  for  him, 
and  they  proceeded  to  the  King's  chapel  in  the  castle. 
There  were  no  fires  in  the  passages:  the  chapel  was 
scarcely  alight;  princesses,  governesses,  equerries 
grumbled  and  caught  cold:  but  cold  or  hot,  it  was  their 
duty  to  go:  and,  wet  or  dry,  light  or  dark,  the  stout  old 
George  was  always  in  his  place  to  say  amen  to  the  chap- 
lain. 

The  Queen's  character  is  represented  in  "Burney"  at 
full  length.  She  was  a  sensible,  most  decorous  woman ;  a 
very  grand  lady  on  state  occasions,  simple  enough  in  or- 
dinary life;  well  read  as  times  went,  and  giving  shrewd 
opinions  about  books;  stingy,  but  not  unjust;  not  gener- 
ally unkind  to  her  dependants,  but  invincible  in  her  no- 
tions of  etiquette,  and  quite  angry  if  her  people  suffered 
ill-health  in  her  service.  She  gave  Miss  Burney  a  shabby 
pittance,  and  led  the  poor  young  woman  a  life  which 
well-nigh  killed  her.  She  never  thought  but  that  she 
was  doing  Burney  the  greatest  favour,  in  taking  her 
from  freedom,  fame,  and  competence,  and  killing 
her  off  with  languor  in  that  dreary  court.  It  was  not 
dreary  to  her.  Had  she  been  sei-vant  instead  of  mistress, 
her  spirit  would  never  have  broken  down:  she  never 
would  have  put  a  pin  out  of  place,  or  been  a  moment 
from  her  duty.  She  was  not  weak,  and  she  could  not 
pardon  tliose  who  were.  She  was  perfectly  correct  in 
life,  and  she  hated  poor  sinners  with  a  rancour  such  as 


GEORGE  THE  THIRD  101 

virtue  sometimes  has.  She  must  have  had  awful  private 
trials  of  her  own :  not  merely  with  her  children,  but  with 
her  husband,  in  those  long  days  about  which  nobody  will 
ever  know  anything  now ;  when  he  was  not  quite  insane ; 
when  his  incessant  tongue  was  babbling  folly,  rage,  per- 
secution; and  she  had  to  smile  and  be  respectful  and  at- 
tentive under  this  intolerable  ennui.  The  Queen  bore  all 
her  duties  stoutly,  as  she  expected  others  to  bear  them. 
At  a  State  christening,  the  lady  who  held  the  infant  was 
tired  and  looked  unwell,  and  the  Princess  of  Wales 
asked  permission  for  her  to  sit  down.  *'  Let  her  stand," 
said  the  Queen,  flicking  the  snufF  off  her  sleeve.  She 
would  have  stood,  the  resolute  old  woman,  if  she  had  had 
to  hold  the  child  till  his  beard  was  grown.  *'  I  am  sev- 
enty years  of  age,"  the  Queen  said,  facing  a  mob  of  ruf- 
fians who  stopped  her  sedan:  "  I  have  been  fifty  years 
Queen  of  England,  and  I  never  was  insulted  before." 
Fearless,  rigid,  unforgiving  little  queen  I  I  don't  won- 
der that  her  sons  revolted  from  her. 

Of  all  the  figures  in  that  large  family  group  which  sur- 
rounds George  and  his  Queen,  the  prettiest,  I  think,  is 
the  father's  darling,  the  Princess  Amelia,  pathetic  for 
her  beauty,  her  sweetness,  her  early  death,  and  for  the 
extreme  passionate  tenderness  with  which  her  father 
loved  her.  This  was  his  favourite  amongst  all  the  chil- 
dren: of  his  sons,  he  loved  the  Duke  of  York  best. 
Burney  tells  a  sad  story  of  the  poor  old  man  at  Wey- 
mouth, and  how  eager  he  was  to  have  this  darling  son 
with  him.  The  King's  house  was  not  big  enough  to  hold 
the  Prince;  and  his  father  had  a  portable  house  erected 
close  to  his  own,  and  at  huge  pains,  so  that  his  dear  Fred- 
erick should  be  near  him.  He  clung  on  his  arm  all  the 
time  of  his  visit :  talked  to  no  one  else ;  had  talked  of  no 


102  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

one  else  for  some  time  before.  The  Prince,  so  long  ex- 
pected, stayed  but  a  single  night.  He  had  business  in 
London  the  next  day,  he  said.  The  dulness  of  the  old 
King's  court  stupefied  York  and  the  other  big  sons  of 
George  III.  They  scared  equerries  and  ladies,  fright- 
ened the  modest  little  circle,  with  their  coarse  spirits  and 
loud  talk.  Of  little  comfort,  indeed,  were  the  King's 
sons  to  the  King. 

But  the  pretty  Amelia  was  his  darling;  and  the  little 
maiden,  prattling  and  smiling  in  the  fond  arms  of  that 
old  father,  is  a  sweet  image  to  look  on.  There  is  a  fam- 
ily picture  in  Burney,  which  a  man  must  be  very  hard- 
hearted not  to  like.  She  describes  an  after-dinner  walk 
of  the  royal  family  at  Windsor: — "  It  was  really  a 
mighty  pretty  procession,"  she  says.  "  The  little  Prin- 
cess, just  turned  of  three  years  old,  in  a  robe-coat  cov- 
ered with  fine  muslin,  a  dressed  close  cap,  white  gloves, 
and  fan,  walked  on  alone  and  first,  highly  delighted  with 
the  parade,  and  turning  from  side  to  side  to  see  every- 
body as  she  passed ;  for  all  the  terracers  stand  up  against 
the  walls,  to  make  a  clear  passage  for  the  royal  family 
the  moment  they  come  in  sight.  Then  followed  the 
King  and  Queen,  no  less  delighted  with  the  joy  of  their 
little  darling.  The  Princess  Royal  leaning  on  Lady 
Elizabeth  Waldegrave,  the  Princess  Augusta  holding 
by  the  Duchess  of  Ancaster,  the  Princess  Elizabeth  led 
by  Lady  Charlotte  Bertie,  followed.  Office  here  takes 
place  of  rank,"  says  Burney,— to  explain  how  it  was  that 
Lady  E.  Waldegrave,  as  lady  of  the  bedchamber 
walked  before  a  duchess; — "General  Bude,  and  the 
Duke  of  Montague,  and  Major  Price  as  equerry, 
brought  up  the  rear  of  the  procession."  One  sees  it;  the 
band  playing  its  old  music,  the  sun  shining  on  the  happy, 


GEORGE   THE   THIRD  103 

loyal  crowd ;  and  lighting  the  ancient  battlements, 
the  rich  elms,  and  purple  landscape,  and  bright  green- 
sward ;  the  royal  standard  drooping  from  the  great  tower 
yonder;  as  old  George  passes,  followed  by  his  race, 
preceded  by  the  charming  infant,  who  caresses  the  crowd 
with  her  innocent  smiles. 

"  On  sight  of  Mrs.  Delany,  the  King  instantly 
stopped  to  speak  to  her;  the  Queen,  of  course,  and  the 
little  Princess,  and  all  the  rest,  stood  still.  They  talked 
a  good  while  with  the  sweet  old  lady,  during  which  time 
the  King  once  or  twice  addressed  himself  to  me.  I 
caught  the  Queen's  eye,  and  saw  in  it  a  little  surprise, 
but  by  no  means  any  displeasure,  to  see  me  of  the  party. 
The  little  Princess  went  up  to  Mrs.  Delany,  of  whom  she 
is  very  fond,  and  behaved  like  a  little  angel  to  her.  She 
then,  with  a  look  of  inquiry  and  recollection,  came  be- 
hind Mrs.  Delany  to  look  at  me.  '  I  am  afraid,'  said  I, 
in  a  whisper,  and  stooping  down,  '  your  Royal  Highness 
does  not  remember  me? '  Her  answer  was  an  arch  little 
smile,  and  a  nearer  approach,  with  her  lips  pouted  out 
to  kiss  me." 

The  Princess  wrote  verses  herself,  and  there  are  some 
pretty  plaintive  lines  attributed  to  her,  which  are  more 
touching  than  better  poetry:— 

"  Unthinking,  idle,  wild,  and  young, 
I  laughed,  and  danced,  and  talked,  and  sung: 
And,  proud  of  health,  of  freedom  vain, 
Dreamed  not  of  sorrow,  care,  or  pain; 
Concluding,  in  those  hours  of  glee, 
That  all  the  world  was  made  for  me. 

"  But  when  the  hour  of  trial  came. 
When  sickness  shook  this  trembling  frame, 


104  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

When  folly's  gay  pursuits  were  o'er, 
And  I  could  sing  and  dance  no  more, 
It  then  occurred,  how  sad  'twould  be, 
Were  this  world  only  made  for  me." 

The  poor  soul  quitted  it— and  ere  yet  she  was  dead 
the  agonized  father  was  in  such  a  state,  that  the  officers 
round  about  him  were  obliged  to  set  watchers  over  him, 
and  from  November,  1810,  George  III.  ceased  to  reign. 
All  the  world  knows  the  story  of  his  malady :  all  history 
presents  no  sadder  figure  than  that  of  the  old  man,  blind 
and  deprived  of  reason,  wandering  through  the  rooms 
of  his  palace,  addressing  imaginary  parliaments,  re- 
viewing fancied  troops,  holding  ghostly  courts.  I  have 
seen  his  picture  as  it  was  taken  at  this  time,  hanging  in 
the  apartment  of  his  daughter,  the  Landgravine  of 
Hesse  Hombourg— amidst  books  and  Windsor  furni- 
ture, and  a  hundred  fond  reminiscences  of  her  English 
home.  The  poor  old  father  is  represented  in  a  purple 
gown,  his  snowy  beard  falling  over  his  breast— the  star 
of  his  famous  Order  still  idly  shining  on  it.  He  was  not 
only  sightless:  he  became  utterly  deaf.  All  light,  all 
reason,  all  sound  of  human  voices,  all  the  pleasures  of 
this  world  of  God,  were  taken  from  him.  Some  slight 
lucid  moments  he  had;  in  one  of  which,  the  Queen,  de- 
siring to  see  him,  entered  the  room,  and  found  him  sing- 
ing a  hymn,  and  accompanying  himself  at  the  harpsi- 
chord. When  he  had  finished,  he  knelt  down  and  prayed 
aloud  for  her,  and  then  for  his  family,  and  then  for  the 
nation,  concluding  with  a  prayer  for  himself,  that  it 
might  please  God  to  avert  his  heavy  calamity  from  him, 
but  if  not,  to  give  him  resignation  to  submit.  He  then 
burst  into  tears,  and  his  reason  again  fled. 


GEORGE   THE   THIRD  105 

What  preacher  need  moralize  on  this  story;  what 
words  save  the  simplest  are  requisite  to  tell  it?  It  is  too 
terrible  for  tears.  The  thought  of  such  a  misery  smites 
me  down  in  submission  before  the  Ruler  of  kings  and 
men,  the  Monarch  Supreme  over  empires  and  repubUcs, 
the  inscrutable  Dispenser  of  hfe,  death,  happiness,  vic- 
tory. "  O  brothers,"  I  said  to  those  who  heard  me  first 
in  America—"  O  brothers!  speaking  the  same  dear 
mother  tongue— O  comrades!  enemies  no  more,  let  us 
take  a  mournful  hand  together  as  we  stand  by  this  royal 
corpse,  and  call  a  truce  to  battle !  Low  he  lies  to  whom 
the  proudest  used  to  kneel  once,  and  who  was  cast  lower 
than  the  poorest:  dead,  whom  millions  prayed  for  in 
vain.  Driven  off  his  throne;  buffeted  by  rude  hands; 
with  his  children  in  revolt ;  the  darling  of  his  old  age  killed 
before  him  untimely ;  our  Lear  hangs  over  her  breathless 
lips  and  cries,  '  Cordelia,  Cordelia,  stay  a  little ! ' 

*  Vex  not  his  ghost — oh!  let  him  pass — he  hates  him 
That  would  upon  the  rack  of  this  tough  world 
Stretch  him  out  longer  I ' 

Hush!  Strife  and  Quarrel,  over  the  solemn  grave! 
Sound,  trumpets,  a  mournful  march.  Fall,  dark  cur- 
tain, upon  his  pageant,  his  pride,  his  grief,  his  awful 
tragedy." 


GEORGE  THE  FOURTH 


S^N  Twiss's  amusing 
"Life  of  Eldon," 
we  read  how,  on  the 
death  of  the  Duke 
York,  the  old  chan- 
cellor became  pos- 
sessed of  a  lock  of 
the  defunct  Prince's 
hair;  and  so  careful 
was  he  respecting 
the  authenticity  of 
the  relic,  that  Bessy 
Eldon  his  wife  sat  in 
the  room  with  the 
young  man  from 
Hamlet's,  who  dis- 
tributed the  ringlet 
into  separate  lock- 
ets, which  each  of  the  Eldon  family  afterwards  wore. 
You  know  how,  when  George  IV.  came  to  Edinburgh, 
a  better  man  than  he  went  on  board  the  royal  yacht  to 
welcome  the  King  to  his  kingdom  of  Scotland,  seized  a 
goblet  from  which  his  Majesty  had  just  drunk,  vowed 
it  should  remain  for  ever  as  an  heirloom  in  his  family, 
clapped  the  precious  glass  in  his  pocket,  and  sat  down 


George  IV 


GEORGE  THE  FOURTH  107 

on  it  and  broke  it  when  he  got  home.  Suppose  the  good 
sheriff's  prize  unbroken  now  at  Abbotsford,  should  we 
not  smile  with  something  like  pity  as  we  beheld  it?  Sup- 
pose one  of  those  lockets  of  the  no-Popery  Prince's  hair 
offered  for  sale  at  Christie's,  quot  lihras  e  duce  summo 
invenies?  how  many  pounds  would  you  find  for  the 
illustrious  Duke?  Madame  Tussaud  has  got  King 
George's  coronation  robes;  is  there  any  man  now  alive 
who  would  kiss  the  hem  of  that  tiTmipery?  He  sleeps 
since  thirty  years:  do  not  any  of  you,  who  remember 
him,  wonder  that  you  once  respected  and  huzza'd  and 
admired  him? 

To  make  a  portrait  of  him  at  first  seemed  a  matter  of 
small  difficulty.  There  is  his  coat,  his  star,  his  wig,  his 
countenance  simpering  under  it :  with  a  slate  and  a  piece 
of  chalk,  I  could  at  this  very  desk  perform  a  recogniz- 
able likeness  of  him.  And  yet  after  reading  of  him  in 
scores  of  volumes,  hunting  him  through  old  magazines 
and  newspapers,  having  him  here  at  a  ball,  there  at  a 
public  dinner,  there  at  races  and  so  forth,  you  find  you 
have  nothing— nothing  but  a  coat  and  a  wig  and  a  mask 
smiling  below  it — nothing  but  a  great  simulacrum.  His 
sire  and  grandsires  were  men.  One  knows  what  they 
were  like:  what  they  would  do  in  given  circumstances: 
that  on  occasion  they  fought  and  demeaned  themselves 
like  tough  good  soldiers.  They  had  friends  whom  they 
liked  according  to  their  natures;  enemies  whom  they 
hated  fiercely;  passions,  and  actions,  and  individualities 
of  their  own.  The  sailor  King  who  came  after  George 
was  a  man:  the  Duke  of  York  was  a  man,  big,  burly, 
loud,  jolly,  cursing,  courageous.  But  this  George,  what 
was  he?  I  look  through  all  his  life,  and  recognize  but  a 
bow  and  a  grin.    I  try  and  take  him  to  pieces,  and  find 


108  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

silk  stockings,  padding,  stays,  a  coat  with  frogs  and  a 
fur  collar,  a  star  and  blue  ribbon,  a  pocket-handkerchief 
prodigiously  scented,  one  of  Truefitt's  best  nutty  brown 
wigs  reeking  with  oil,  a  set  of  teeth  and  a  huge  black 
stock,  underwaistcoats,  more  underwaistcoats,  and  then 
nothing.  I  know  of  no  sentiment  that  he  ever  distinctly 
uttered.  Documents  are  published  under  his  name,  but 
people  wrote  them — private  letters,  but  people  spelt 
them.  He  put  a  great  George  P.  or  George  R.  at  the 
bottom  of  the  page  and  fancied  he  had  wTitten  the 
paper:  some  bookseller's  clerk,  some  poor  author,  some 
man  did  the  work;  saw  to  the  spelling,  cleaned  up  the 
slovenly  sentences,  and  gave  the  lax  maudlin  slipslop  a 
sort  of  consistency.  He  must  have  had  an  individuality : 
the  dancing-master  whom  he  emulated,  nay,  surpassed 
—the  wig-maker  who  curled  his  toupee  for  him— the 
tailor  who  cut  his  coats,  had  that.  But,  about  George, 
one  can  get  at  nothing  actual.  That  outside,  I  am 
certain,  is  pad  and  tailor's  work;  there  may  be  some- 
thing behind  it,  but  what?  We  cannot  get  at  the  char- 
acter; no  doubt  never  shall.  Will  men  of  the  future 
have  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  unswathe  and  inter- 
pret that  royal  old  mummy?  I  own  I  once  used  to 
think  it  would  be  good  sport  to  pursue  him,  fasten  on 
him,  and  pull  him  down.  But  now  I  am  ashamed  to 
mount  and  lay  good  dogs  on,  to  summon  a  full  field,  and 
then  to  hunt  the  poor  game. 

On  the  12th  August,  1762,  the  forty-seventh  anniver- 
sary of  the  accession  of  the  House  of  Brunswick  to  the 
English  throne,  all  the  bells  in  London  pealed  in  gratu- 
lation,  and  announced  that  an  heir  to  George  III.  was 
born.  Five  days  afterwards  the  King  was  pleased  to 
pass  letters  patent  under  the  great  seal,  creating  H.  R. 


GEORGE   THE   FOURTH  109 

H.  the  Prince  of  Great  Britain,  Electoral  Prince  of 
Brunswick  Liineburg,  Duke  of  Cornwall  and  Rothsay, 
Earl  of  Carrick,  Baron  of  Renfrew,  Lord  of  the  Isles, 
and  Great  Steward  of  Scotland,  Prince  of  Wales  and 
Earl  of  Chester. 

All  the  people  at  his  birth  thronged  to  see  this  lovely 
child ;  and  behind  a  gilt  china-screen  railing  in  St.  James's 
Palace,  in  a  cradle  surmounted  by  the  three  princely 
ostrich  feathers,  the  royal  infant  was  laid  to  delight 
the  eyes  of  the  lieges.  Among  the  earhest  instances  of 
homage  paid  to  him,  I  read  that  "a  curious  Indian  bow 
and  arrows  were  sent  to  the  Prince  from  his  father's 
faithful  subjects  in  New  York."  He  was  fond  of  play- 
ing with  these  toys :  an  old  statesman,  orator,  and  wit  of 
his  grandfather's  and  great-grandfather's  time,  never 
tired  of  his  business,  still  eager  in  his  old  age  to  be 
well  at  court,  used  to  play  with  the  little  Prince,  and  pre- 
tend to  fall  down  dead  when  the  Prince  shot  at  him 
with  his  toy  bow  and  arrows— and  get  up  and  fall  down 
dead  over  and  over  again— to  the  increased  dehght  of 
the  child.  So  that  he  was  flattered  from  his  cradle  up- 
wards; and  before  his  little  feet  could  walk,  statesmen 
and  courtiers  were  busy  kissing  them. 

There  is  a  pretty  picture  of  the  royal  infant— a  beau- 
tiful buxom  child— asleep  in  his  mother's  lap;  who  turns 
round  and  holds  a  finger  to  her  lip,  as  if  she  would  bid 
the  courtiers  around  respect  the  baby's  slumbers.  From 
that  day  until  his  decease,  sixty-eight  years  after,  I  sup- 
pose there  were  more  pictures  taken  of  that  personage 
than  of  any  other  human  being  who  ever  was  born  and 
died— in  every  kind  of  uniform  and  every  possible  court- 
dress— in  long  fair  hair,  with  powder,  with  and  without 
a  pig-tail— in  every  conceivable  cocked-hat— in  dragoon 


110  THE  FOUR  GEORGES 

uniform— in  Windsor  uniform— in  a  field-marshal's 
clothes— in  a  Scotch  kilt  and  tartans,  with  dirk  and  claj^- 
more  (a  stupendous  figure) —in  a  frogged  frock-coat 
with  a  fur  collar  and  tight  breeches  and  silk  stockings— 
in  wigs  of  every  coloui',  fair,  brown,  and  black— in  his 
famous  coronation  robes  finally,  with  which  perform- 
ance he  was  so  much  in  love  that  he  distributed  copies 
of  the  picture  to  all  the  courts  and  British  embassies  in 
Europe,  and  to  numberless  clubs,  town-halls,  and  private 
friends.  I  remember  as  a  young  man  how  almost  every 
dining-room  had  his  portrait. 

There  is  plenty  of  biographical  tattle  about  the 
Prince's  boyhood.  It  is  told  with  what  astonishing  ra- 
pidity he  learned  all  languages,  ancient  and  modern; 
how  he  rode  beautifully,  sang  charmingly,  and  played 
elegantly  on  the  violoncello.  That  he  was  beautiful  was 
patent  to  all  eyes.  He  had  a  high  spirit :  and  once,  when  he 
had  had  a  difference  with  his  father,  burst  into  the  royal 
closet  and  called  out,  "  Wilkes  and  liberty  for  ever! "  He 
was  so  clever,  that  he  confounded  his  very  governors  in 
learning;  and  one  of  them.  Lord  Bruce,  having  made  a 
false  quantity  in  quoting  Greek,  the  admirable  young 
Prince  instantly  corrected  him.  Lord  Bruce  could  not 
remain  a  governor  after  this  humiliation;  resigned  his 
office,  and,  to  soothe  his  feelings,  was  actually  promoted 
to  be  an  earl!  It  is  the  most  wonderful  reason  for  pro- 
moting a  man  that  ever  I  heard.  Lord  Bruce  was  made 
an  earl  for  a  blunder  in  prosody ;  and  Nelson  was  made 
a  baron  for  the  victory  of  the  Nile. 

Lovers  of  long  sums  have  added  up  the  millions  and 
millions  which  in  the  course  of  his  brilliant  existence  this 
single  Prince  consumed.  Besides  his  income  of  50,000/., 
70,000Z.,  100,000/.,  120,000/.  a  year,  we  read  of  three  ap- 


i78o 


1790 


THE  REGENT. 


GEORGE   THE   FOURTH  111 

plications  to  Parliament:  debts  to  the  amount  of  160,- 
000/.,  of  650,000/.;  besides  mysterious  foreign  loans, 
whereof  he  pocketed  the  proceeds.  What  did  he  do  for 
all  this  money?  Why  was  he  to  have  it ?  If  he  had  been 
a  manufacturing  town,  or  a  populous  rural  district,  or 
an  army  of  five  thousand  men,  he  would  not  have  cost 
more.  He,  one  solitary  stout  man,  who  did  not  toil,  nor 
spin,  nor  fight,— what  had  any  mortal  done  that  he 
should  be  pampered  so? 

In  1784,  when  he  was  twenty -one  years  of  age,  Carl- 
ton Palace  was  given  to  him,  and  furnished  by  the  na- 
tion with  as  much  luxury  as  could  be  devised.  His 
pockets  were  filled  with  money:  he  said  it  was  not 
enough;  he  flung  it  out  of  window:  he  spent  10,000/.  a 
year  for  the  coats  on  his  back.  The  nation  gave  him 
more  money,  and  more,  and  more.  The  sum  is  past 
counting.  He  was  a  prince  most  lovely  to  look  on,  and 
was  christened  Prince  Florizel  on  his  first  appearance  in 
the  world.  That  he  was  the  handsomest  prince  in  the 
whole  world  was  agreed  by  men,  and  alas!  by  many 
women. 

I  suppose  he  must  have  been  very  graceful.  There 
are  so  many  testimonies  to  the  charm  of  his  manner,  that 
w^e  must  allow  him  great  elegance  and  powers  of  fasci- 
nation. He,  and  the  King  of  France's  brother,  the  Count 
d'Artois,  a  charming  young  Prince  who  danced  de- 
liciously  on  the  tight-rope— a  poor  old  tottering  exiled 
King,  who  asked  hospitality  of  King  George's  successor, 
and  lived  awhile  in  the  palace  of  Mary  Stuart— divided 
in  their  youth  the  title  of  first  gentleman  of  Europe. 
We  in  England  of  course  gave  the  prize  to  our  gentle- 
man. Until  George's  death  the  propriety  of  that  award 
was  scarce  questioned,  or  the  doubters  voted  rebels  and 


112  THE  FOUR  GEORGES 

traitors.  Only  the  other  day  I  was  reading  in  the  reprint 
of  the  dehghtful  "  Noctes  "  of  Christopher  North.  The 
health  of  THE  KING  is  drunk  in  large  capitals  by  the 
loyal  Scotsman.  You  would  fancy  him  a  hero,  a  sage,  a 
statesman,  a  pattern  for  kings  and  men.  It  was  Walter 
Scott  who  had  that  accident  with  the  broken  glass  I 
spoke  of  anon.  He  was  the  King's  Scottish  champion, 
rallied  all  Scotland  to  him,  made  loyalty  the  fashion,  and 
laid  about  him  fiercely  with  his  claymore  upon  all  the 
Prince's  enemies.  The  Brunswicks  had  no  such  defend- 
ers as  those  two  Jacobite  commoners,  old  Sam  Johnson 
the  Lichfield  chapman's  son,  and  Walter  Scott,  the 
Edinburgh  lawyer's. 

Nature  and  circumstance  had  done  their  utmost  to 
prepare  the  Prince  for  being  sj)oiled:  the  dreadful  dul- 
ness  of  papa's  court,  its  stupid  amusements,  its  dreary 
occupations,  the  maddening  humdrum,  the  stifling  sobri- 
ety of  its  routine,  would  have  made  a  scapegrace  of  a 
much  less  lively  prince.  All  the  big  princes  bolted  from 
that  castle  of  ennui  where  old  King  George  sat,  posting 
up  his  books  and  droning  over  his  Handel;  and  old 
Queen  Charlotte  over  her  snufF  and  her  tambour-frame. 
Most  of  the  sturdy,  gallant  sons  settled  down  after 
sowing  their  wild  oats,  and  became  sober  subjects  of 
their  father  and  brother— not  ill  liked  by  the  nation, 
which  pardons  youthful  irregularities  readily  enough, 
for  the  sake  of  pluck,  and  unafFectedness,  and  good- 
humour. 

The  boy  is  father  of  the  man.  Our  Prince  signalized 
his  entrance  into  the  world  by  a  feat  worthy  of  his  fu- 
ture life.  He  invented  a  new  shoebuckle.  It  was  an  inch 
long  and  five  inches  broad.  "  It  covered  almost  the  whole 
instep,  reaching  down  to  the  ground  on  either  side  of  the 


GEORGE   THE   FOURTH  113 

foot."  A  sweet  invention!  lovely  and  useful  as  the 
Prince  on  whose  foot  it  sparkled.  At  his  first  appear- 
ance at  a  court  ball,  we  read  that  "  his  coat  was  pink  silk, 
with  white  cuffs;  his  waistcoat  white  silk,  embroidered 
with  various-coloured  foil,  and  adorned  with  a  profusion 
of  French  paste.  And  his  hat  was  ornamented  with 
two  rows  of  steel  beads,  five  thousand  in  number,  with  a 
button  and  loop  of  the  same  metal,  and  cocked  in  a 
new  military  style."  What  a  Florizel !  Do  these  details 
seem  trivial?  They  are  the  grave  incidents  of  his  life. 
His  biographers  say  that  when  he  commenced  house- 
keeping in  that  splendid  new  palace  of  his,  the  Prince  of 
Wales  had  some  windy  projects  of  encouraging  litera- 
ture, science,  and  the  arts;  of  having  assemblies  of  lite- 
rary characters;  and  societies  for  the  encouragement  of 
geography,  astronomy,  and  botany.  Astronomy,  geog- 
raphy, and  botany!  Fiddlesticks!  French  ballet-dan- 
cers, French  cooks,  horse- jockeys,  buffoons,  procurers, 
tailors,  boxers,  fencing-masters,  china,  jewel,  and  gim- 
crack  merchants — these  were  his  real  companions.  At 
first  he  made  a  pretence  of  having  Burke  and  Fox  and 
Sheridan  for  his  friends.  But  how  could  such  men  be 
serious  before  such  an  empty  scapegrace  as  this  lad? 
Fox  might  talk  dice  with  him,  and  Sheridan  wine;  but 
what  else  had  these  men  of  genius  in  common  with  their 
tawdry  young  host  of  Carlton  House?  That  fribble 
the  leader  of  such  men  as  Fox  and  Burke!  That  man's 
opinions  about  the  constitution,  the  India  Bill,  justice  to 
the  Catholics — about  any  question  graver  than  the  button 
for  a  waistcoat  or  the  sauce  for  a  partridge — worth  any- 
thing! The  friendship  between  the  Prince  and  the 
Whig  chiefs  was  impossible.  They  were  hypocrites  in 
pretending  to  respect  him,  and  if  he  broke  the  hollow 


114  THE  FOUR  GEORGES 

compact  between  them,  who  shall  blame  him?  His  nat- 
ural companions  were  dandies  and  parasites.  He  could 
talk  to  a  tailor  or  a  cook;  but,  as  the  equal  of  great 
statesmen,  to  set  up  a  creature,  lazy,  weak,  indolent,  be- 
sotted, of  monstrous  vanity,  and  levity  incurable — it  is 
absurd.  They  thought  to  use  him,  and  did  for  awhile* 
but  they  must  have  known  how  timid  he  w^as;  how  en- 
tirely heartless  and  treacherous,  and  have  expected  his 
desertion.  His  next  set  of  friends  were  mere  table  com- 
panions, of  whom  he  grew  tired  too ;  then  we  hear  of  him 
with  a  very  few  select  toadies,  mere  boys  from  school  or 
the  Guards,  whose  sprightliness  tickled  the  fancy  of  the 
worn-out  voluptuary.  What  matters  what  friends  he 
had?  He  dropped  all  his  friends;  he  never  could  have 
real  friends.  An  heir  to  the  throne  has  flatterers,  adven- 
turers who  hang  about  him,  ambitious  men  who  use  him ; 
but  friendship  is  denied  him. 

And  women,  I  suppose,  are  as  false  and  selfish  in  their 
dealings  with  such  a  character  as  men.  Shall  we  take 
the  Leporello  part,  flourish  a  catalogue  of  the  conquests 
of  this  royal  Don  Juan,  and  tell  the  names  of  the  favour- 
ites to  whom,  one  after  the  other,  George  Prince  flung  his 
pocket-handkerchief?  What  purpose  would  it  answer 
to  say  how  Perdita  was  pursued,  won,  deserted,  and  by 
whom  succeeded?  What  good  in  knowing  that  he  did 
actually  marry  Mrs.  Fitz-Herbert  according  to  the  rites 
of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church;  that  her  marriage  set- 
tlements have  been  seen  in  London;  that  the  names  of 
the  witnesses  to  her  marriage  are  known.  This  sort  of 
vice  that  we  are  now  come  to  presents  no  new  or  fleeting 
trait  of  manners.  Debauchees,  dissolute,  heartless, 
fickle,  cowardly,  have  been  ever  since  the  work!  began. 
This  one  had  more  temptations  than  most,  and  so  much 
may  be  said  in  extenuation  for  him. 


GEORGE   THE   FOURTH  115 

It  was  an  unlucky  thing  for  this  doomed  one,  and  tend- 
ing to  lead  him  yet  farther  on  the  road  to  the  deuce,  that, 
besides  being  lovely,  so  that  women  were  fascinated  by 
him;  and  heir-apparent,  so  that  all  the  world  flattered 
him ;  he  should  have  a  beautiful  voice,  which  led  him  di- 
rectly in  the  way  of  drink:  and  thus  all  the  pleasant 
devils  were  coaxing  on  poor  Florizel ;  desire,  and  idleness, 
and  vanity,  and  drunkenness,  all  clashing  their  merry 
cymbals  and  bidding  him  come  on. 

We  first  hear  of  his  warbling  sentimental  ditties  under 
the  walls  of  Kew  Palace  by  the  moonlight  banks  of 
Thames,  with  Lord  Viscount  Leporello  keeping  watch 
lest  the  music  should  be  disturbed. 

Singing  after  dinner  and  supper  w^as  the  universal 
fashion  of  the  day.  You  may  fancy  all  England  sound- 
ing with  choruses,  some  ribald,  some  harmless,  but  all 
occasioning  the  consumption  of  a  prodigious  deal  of  fer- 
mented liquor. 

*'  The  jolly  Muse  her  wings  to  try  no  frolic  flights  need  take, 
But  round  the  bowl  would  dip  and  fly,  like  swallows  round  a 
lake," 

sang  Morris  in  one  of  his  gallant  Anacreontics,  to  which 
the  Prince  many  a  time  joined  in  chorus,  and  of  which 
the  burden  is, — 

"  And  that  I  think's  a  reason  fair  to  drink  and  fill  again." 

This  delightful  boon  companion  of  the  Prince's  found 
"  a  reason  fair  "  to  forego  filling  and  drinking,  saw  the 
error  of  his  ways,  gave  up  the  bowl  and  chorus,  and  died 
retired  and  religious.  The  Prince's  table  no  doubt  was 
a  very  tempting  one.  The  wits  came  and  did  their  ut- 
most to  amuse  him.    It  is  wonderful  how  the  spirits  rise, 


116  THE  FOUR  GEORGES 

the  wit  brightens,  the  wine  has  an  aroma,  when  a  great 
man  is  at  the  head  of  the  table.  Scott,  the  loyal  cavalier, 
the  king's  true  liegeman,  the  very  best  raconteur  of  his 
time,  poured  out  with  an  endless  generosity  his  store  of 
old-world  learning,  kindness,  and  humour.  Grattan 
contributed  to  it  his  wondrous  eloquence,  fancy,  feeling. 
Tom  Moore  perched  upon  it  for  awhile,  and  piped  his 
most  exquisite  little  love-tunes  on  it,  flying  away  in  a 
twitter  of  indignation  afterwards,  and  attacking  the 
Prince  with  bill  and  claw.  In  such  society,  no  wonder 
the  sitting  was  long,  and  the  butler  tired  of  drawing 
corks.  Remember  what  the  usages  of  the  time  were, 
and  that  William  Pitt,  coming  to  the  House  of  Com- 
mons after  having  drunk  a  bottle  of  port-wine  at  his  own 
house,  would  go  into  Bellamy's  with  Dundas,  and  help 
finish  a  couple  more. 

You  peruse  volume  after  volume  about  our  Prince, 
and  find  some  half-dozen  stock  stories— indeed  not  many 
more— common  to  all  the  histories.  He  was  good-na- 
tured; an  indolent,  voluptuous  prince,  not  unkindly. 
One  story,  the  most  favourable  to  him  of  all,  perhaps,  is 
that  as  Prince  Regent  he  was  eager  to  hear  all  that  could 
be  said  in  behalf  of  prisoners  condemned  to  death,  and 
anxious,  if  possible,  to  remit  the  capital  sentence.  He 
was  kind  to  his  servants.  There  is  a  stoiy  common  to  all 
the  biographies,  of  Molly  the  housemaid,  who,  when  his 
household  was  to  be  broken  up,  owing  to  some  reforms 
which  he  tried  absurdly  to  practise,  was  discovered  cry- 
ing as  she  dusted  the  chairs  because  she  was  to  leave  a 
master  who  had  a  kind  word  for  all  his  servants.  An- 
other tale  is  that  of  a  groom  of  the  Prince's  being  discov- 
ered in  corn  and  oat  peculations,  and  dismissed  by  the 
personage  at  the  head  of  the  stables;  the  Prince  had 


GEORGE   THE   FOURTH  117 

word  of  John's  disgrace,  remonstrated  with  him  veiy 
kindly,  generously  reinstated  him,  and  bade  him  promise 
to  sin  no  more— a  promise  which  John  kept.  Another 
story  is  very  fondly  told  of  the  Prince  as  a  young  man 
hearing  of  an  officer's  family  in  distress,  and  how  he 
straightway  borrowed  six  or  eight  hundred  pounds,  put 
his  long  fair  hair  under  his  hat,  and  so  disguised  carried 
the  money  to  the  starving  family.  He  sent  money,  too, 
to  Sheridan  on  his  death-bed,  and  would  have  sent  more 
had  not  death  ended  the  career  of  that  man  of  genius. 
Besides  these,  there  are  a  few  pretty  speeches,  kind  and 
graceful,  to  persons  with  whom  he  was  brought  in  con- 
tact. But  he  turned  upon  twenty  friends.  He  was  fond 
and  familiar  with  them  one  day,  and  he  passed  them  on 
the  next  without  recognition.  He  used  them,  liked 
them,  loved  them  perhaps  in  his  way,  and  then  separated 
from  them.  On  Monday  he  kissed  and  fondled  poor 
Perdita,  and  on  Tuesday  he  met  her  and  did  not  know 
her.  On  Wednesday  he  was  very  affectionate  with  that 
wretched  Brummell,  and  on  Thursday  forgot  him; 
cheated  him  even  out  of  a  snuff-box  which  he  owed  the 
poor  dandy;  saw  him  years  afterwards  in  his  downfall 
and  poverty,  when  the  bankrupt  Beau  sent  him  another 
snuff-box  with  some  of  the  snufF  he  used  to  love,  as  a 
piteous  token  of  remembrance  and  submission,  and  the 
King  took  the  snuff,  and  ordered  his  horses  and  drove 
on,  and  had  not  the  grace  to  notice  his  old  companion, 
favourite,  rival,  enemy,  superior.  In  Wraxall  there  is 
some  gossip  about  him.  When  the  charming,  beautiful, 
generous  Duchess  of  Devonshire  died — the  lovely  lady 
whom  he  used  to  call  his  dearest  duchess  once,  and  pre- 
tend to  admire  as  all  English  society  admired  her— he 
said,  "  Then  we  have  lost  the  best  bred  woman  in  Eng- 


118  THE  FOUR  GEORGES 

land."  "  Then  we  have  lost  the  kindest  heart  in  Eng- 
land," said  noble  Charles  Fox.  On  another  occasion, 
when  three  noblemen  were  to  receive  the  Garter,  says 
Wraxall,  "A  great  personage  observed  that  never  did 
three  men  receive  the  order  in  so  characteristic  a  manner. 
The  Duke  of  A.  advanced  to  the  sovereign  with  a  phleg- 
matic, cold,  awkward  air  like  a  clown;  Lord  B.  came  for- 
ward fawning  and  smiling  like  a  courtier ;  Lord  C.  pre- 
sented himself  easy,  unembarrassed,  like  a  gentleman!  " 
These  are  the  stories  one  has  to  recall  about  the  Prince 
and  King— kindness  to  a  housemaid,  generosity  to  a 
groom,  criticism  on  a  bow.  There  are  no  better  stories 
about  him:  they  are  mean  and  trivial,  and  they  charac- 
terize him.  The  great  war  of  empires  and  giants  goes 
on.  Day  by  day  victories  are  won  and  lost  by  the  brave. 
Torn,  smoky  flags  and  battered  eagles  are  wrenched  from 
the  heroic  enemy  and  laid  at  his  feet;  and  he  sits  there 
on  his  throne  and  smiles,  and  gives  the  guerdon  of  valour 
to  the  conqueror.  He !  Elhston  the  actor,  when  the  Cor- 
onation was  performed,  in  which  he  took  the  principal 
part,  used  to  fancy  himself  the  King,  burst  into  tears, 
and  hiccup  a  blessing  on  the  people.  I  believe  it  is  cer- 
tain about  George  IV.,  that  he  had  heard  so  much  of  the 
war,  knighted  so  many  people,  and  worn  such  a  prodig- 
ious quantity  of  marshal's  uniforms,  cocked-hats,  cock's 
feathers,  scarlet  and  bullion  in  general,  that  he  actually 
fancied  he  had  been  present  in  some  campaigns,  and, 
under  the  name  of  General  Brock,  led  a  tremendous 
charge  of  the  German  legion  at  Waterloo. 

He  is  dead  but  thirty  years,  and  one  asks  how  a  great 
society  could  have  tolerated  him?  Would  we  bear  him 
now?  In  this  quarter  of  a  century,  what  a  silent  revolu- 
tion has  been  working!  how  it  has  separated  us  from  old 


GEORGE   THE   FOURTH  119 

times  and  manners!  How  it  has  changed  men  them- 
selves! I  can  see  old  gentlemen  now  among  us,  of  per- 
fect good  breeding,  of  quiet  lives,  with  venerable  grey- 
heads,  fondling  their  grandchildren;  and  look  at  them, 
and  wonder  at  what  they  were  once.  That  gentleman  of 
the  grand  old  school,  when  he  was  in  the  10th  Hussars, 
and  dined  at  the  Prince's  table,  would  fall  under  it  night 
after  night.  Night  after  night,  that  gentleman  sat  at 
Brookes's  or  Raggett's  over  the  dice.  If,  in  the  petu- 
lance of  play  or  drink,  that  gentleman  spoke  a  sharp 
word  to  his  neighbour,  he  and  the  other  would  infallibly 
go  out  and  try  to  shoot  each  other  the  next  morning. 
That  gentleman  would  drive  his  friend  Richmond  the 
black  boxer  down  to  Moulsey,  and  hold  his  coat,  and 
shout  and  swear,  and  hurrah  with  delight,  whilst  the 
black  man  was  beating  Dutch  Sam  the  Jew.  That  gen- 
tleman would  take  a  manly  pleasure  in  pulling  his  own 
coat  off,  and  thrashing  a  bargeman  in  a  street  row.  That 
gentleman  has  been  in  a  watch-house.  That  gentleman, 
so  exquisitely  polite  with  ladies  in  a  drawing-room,  so 
loftily  courteous,  if  he  talked  now  as  he  used  among 
men  in  his  youth,  would  swear  so  as  to  make  your  hair 
stand  on  end.  I  met  lately  a  very  old  German  gentle- 
man, who  had  served  in  our  army  at  the  beginning  of  the 
century.  Since  then  he  has  lived  on  his  own  estate,  but 
rarely  meeting  with  an  Englishman,  whose  language — 
the  language  of  fifty  years  ago  that  is — he  possesses  per- 
fectly. When  this  highly  bred  old  man  began  to  speak 
English  to  me,  almost  every  other  word  he  uttered  was 
an  oath:  as  they  used  (they  swore  dreadfully  in  Flan- 
ders) with  the  Duke  of  York  before  Valenciennes,  or  at 
Carlton  House  over  the  supper  and  cards.  Read  By- 
ron's letters.    So  accustomed  is  the  young  man  to  oaths 


120  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

that  he  employs  them  even  in  writing  to  his  friends,  and 
swears  by  the  post.  Read  his  account  of  the  doings  of 
young  men  at  Cambridge,  of  the  ribald  professors,  one 
of  whom  "  could  pour  out  Greek  like  a  drunken  Helot," 
and  whose  excesses  surpassed  even  those  of  the  young 
men.  Read  Matthews'  description  of  the  boyish  lord- 
ling's  housekeeping  at  Newstead,  the  skull-cup  passed 
round,  the  monk's  dresses  from  the  masquerade  ware- 
house, in  which  the  young  scapegraces  used  to  sit  until 
daylight,  chanting  appropriate  songs  round  their  wine. 
"  We  come  to  breakfast  at  two  or  three  o'clock,"  Mat- 
thews says.  "  There  are  gloves  and  foils  for  those  who 
like  to  amuse  themselves,  or  we  fire  pistols  at  a  mark  in 
the  hall,  or  we  worry  the  wolf."  A  jolly  life  truly !  The 
noble  young  owner  of  the  mansion  writes  about  such  af- 
fairs himself  in  letters  to  his  friend,  Mr.  John  Jackson, 
pugilist,  in  London. 

All  the  Prince's  time  tells  a  similar  strange  story  of 
manners  and  pleasure.  In  Wraxall  we  find  the  Prime 
Minister  himself,  the  redoubted  WillHam  Pitt,  engaged 
in  high  jinks  with  personages  of  no  less  importance  than 
Lord  Thurlow  the  Lord  Chancellor,  and  Mr.  Dundas 
the  Treasurer  of  the  Navy.  Wraxall  relates  how  these 
three  statesmen,  returning  after  dinner  from  Addis- 
combe,  found  a  turnpike  open  and  galloped  through  it 
without  paying  the  toll.  The  turnpike-man,  fancying 
they  were  highwaymen,  fired  a  blunderbuss  after  them, 
but  missed  them;  and  the  poet  sang,— 

"  How  as  Pitt  wandered  darkling  o'er  the  plain, 
His  reason  drown'd  in  Jenkinson's  champagne, 
A  rustic's  hand,  but  righteous  fate  withstood. 
Had  shed  a  premier's  for  a  robber's  blood." 


GEORGE   THE   FOURTH  121 

Here  we  have  the  Treasurer  of  the  Navy,  the  Lord 
High  Chancellor,  and  the  Prime  Minister,  all  engaged  in 
a  most  undoubted  lark.  In  Eldon's  '  Memoirs,"  about 
the  very  same  time,  I  read  that  the  bar  loved  wine,  as 
well  as  the  woolsack.  Not  John  Scott  himself;  he  was  a 
good  boy  always ;  and  though  he  loved  port-wine,  loved 
his  business  and  his  duty  and  his  fees  a  great  deal  better. 

He  has  a  Northern  Circuit  story  of  those  days,  about 
a  party  at  the  house  of  a  certain  Lawyer  Fawcett,  who 
gave  a  dinner  every  year  to  the  counsel. 

"  On  one  occasion,"  related  Lord  Eldon,  "I  heard  Lee 
say, '  I  cannot  leave  Fawcett's  wine.  Mind,  Davenport, 
you  will  go  home  immediately  after  dinner,  to  read  the 
brief  in  that  cause  that  we  have  to  conduct  to-morrow.'  " 

"  '  Not  I,'  said  Davenport.  '  Leave  my  dinner  and 
my  wine  to  read  a  brief !    No,  no,  Lee ;  that  won't  do.' 

"  '  Then,'  said  Lee,  '  what  is  to  be  done?  who  else  is 
employed? ' 

"  Davenport.—'  Oh!  young  Scott.' 

"Lee.—'  Oh!  he  must  go.  Mr.  Scott,  you  must  go 
home  immediately,  and  make  yourself  acquainted  with 
that  cause,  before  our  consultation  this  evening.' 

"  This  was  very  hard  upon  me ;  but  I  did  go,  and  there 
was  an  attorney  from  Cumberland,  and  one  from  North- 
umberland, and  I  do  not  know  how  many  other  persons. 
Pretty  late,  in  came  Jack  Lee,  as  drunk  as  he  could  be. 

"'I  cannot  consult  to-night ;  I  must  go  to  bed,'  he 
exclaimed,  and  away  he  went.  Then  came  Sir  Thomas 
Davenport. 

" '  We  cannot  have  a  consultation  to-night,  Mr. 
Wordsworth'  (Wordsworth,  I  think,  was  the  name;  it 
was  a  Cumberland  name) ,  shouted  Davenport.  '  Don't 
you  see  how  drunk  Mr.  Scott  is?  it  is  impossible  to  con- 


122  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

suit.'  Poor  me!  who  had  scarce  had  any  dinner,  and  lost 
all  my  wine — I  was  so  drunk  that  I  could  not  consult! 
Well,  a  verdict  was  given  against  us,  and  it  was  all  ow- 
ing to  Lawj^er  Fawcett's  dinner.  We  moved  for  a  new 
trial;  and  I  must  say,  for  the  honour  of  the  bar,  that 
those  two  gentlemen.  Jack  Lee  and  Sir  Thomas  Daven- 
port, paid  all  the  expenses  between  them  of  the  first 
trial.  It  is  the  only  instance  I  ever  knew;  but  they  did. 
We  moved  for  a  new  trial  (on  the  ground,  I  suppose,  of 
the  counsel  not  being  in  their  senses) ,  and  it  was  granted. 
When  it  came  on,  the  following  year,  the  judge  rose  and 
said,— 

Gentlemen,  did  any  of  you  dine  with  Lawyer 
Fawcett  yesterday?  for,  if  you  did,  I  will  not  hear  this 
cause  till  next  year.' 

"  There  was  great  laughter.  We  gained  the  cause 
that  time." 

On  another  occasion,  at  Lancaster,  where  poor  Bozzy 
must  needs  be  going  the  Northern  Circuit,  "  we  found 
him,"  says  Mr.  Scott,  "  lying  upon  the  pavement  inebri- 
ated. We  subscribed  a  guinea  at  supper  for  him,  and  a 
half-crown  for  his  clerk" —  (no  doubt  there  was  a  large 
bar,  so  that  Scott's  joke  did  not  cost  him  much),—"  and 
sent  him,  when  he  waked  next  morning,  a  brief,  with  in- 
structions to  move  for  what  we  denominated  the  writ  of 
qiiare  adhcesit  pavimento?  with  observations  duly  calcu- 
lated to  induce  him  to  think  that  he  required  great  learn- 
ing to  explain  the  necessity  of  granting  it,  to  the  judge 
before  whom  he  was  to  move."  Boswell  sent  all  round 
the  town  to  attorneys  for  books  that  might  enable  him 
to  distinguish  himself— but  in  vain.  He  moved,  how- 
ever, for  the  writ,  making  the  best  use  he  could  of  the 
observations  in  the  brief.    The  judge  was  perfectly  as- 


GEORGE   THE   FOURTH  123 

tonished,  and  the  audience  amazed.  The  judge  said,  "  I 
never  heard  of  such  a  writ — what  can  it  be  that  adheres 
pavimeiito?  Are  any  of  you  gentlemen  at  the  bar  able 
to  explain  this?  " 

The  bar  laughed.    At  last  one  of  them  said, — 

"  My  lord,  INIr.  Boswell  last  night  adhccsit  pavimento. 
There  was  no  moving  him  for  some  time.  At  last  he  was 
carried  to  bed,  and  he  has  been  dreaming  about  himself 
and  the  pavement." 

The  canny  old  gentleman  relishes  these  jokes.  When 
the  Bishop  of  Lincoln  was  moving  from  the  deanery  of 
St.  Paul's,  he  says  he  asked  a  learned  friend  of  his,  by 
name  Will  Hay,  how  he  should  move  some  especially 
fine  claret,  about  which  he  was  anxious. 

"  Pray,  my  lord  bishop,"  says  Hay,  "  how  much  of 
the  wine  have  you?  " 

The  bishop  said  six  dozen. 

"  If  that  is  all,"  Hay  answered,  "  you  have  but  to  ask 
me  six  times  to  dinner,  and  I  will  carry  it  all  away  my- 
self." 

There  w^ere  giants  in  those  days;  but  this  joke  about 
wine  is  not  so  fearful  as  one  perpetrated  by  Orator  Thel- 
wall,  in  the  heat  of  the  French  Revolution,  ten  years 
later,  over  a  frothing  pot  of  porter.  He  blew  the  head 
off,  and  said,  "  This  is  the  way  I  would  serve  all  kings." 

Now  we  come  to  yet  higher  personages,  and  find  their 
doings  recorded  in  the  blushing  pages  of  timid  little 
Miss  Burney's  "Memoirs."  She  represents  a  prince  of 
the  blood  in  quite  a  royal  condition.  The  loudness,  the 
bigness,  boisterousness,  creaking  boots  and  rattling 
oaths  of  the  young  princes,  appear  to  have  frightened 
the  prim  household  of  Windsor,  and  set  all  the  teacups 
twittering  on  the  tray.     On  the  night  of  a  ball  and 


124'  THE  FOUR  GEORGES 

birthday,  when  one  of  the  pretty,  kind  princesses  was  to 
come  out,  it  was  agreed  that  her  brother,  Prince  Wil- 
liam Henry,  should  dance  the  opening  minuet  with  her, 
and  he  came  to  visit  the  household  at  their  dinner. 

"  At  dinner,  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  presided,  attired 
magnificently;  Miss  Goldsworthy,  Mrs.  Stanforth, 
Messrs.  Du  Luc  and  Stanhope,  dined  with  us ;  and  while 
we  still  were  eating  fruit,  the  Duke  of  Clarence  entered. 

"  He  was  just  risen  from  the  King's  table,  and  wait- 
ing for  his  equipage  to  go  home  and  prepare  for  the  ball. 
To  give  you  an  idea  of  the  energy  of  his  Royal  High- 
ness's  language,  I  ought  to  set  apart  an  objection  to 
writing,  or  rather  intimating,  certain  forcible  words,  and 
beg  leave  to  show  you  in  genuine  colours  a  royal  sailor. 

"  We  all  rose,  of  course,  upon  his  entrance,  and  the 
two  gentlemen  placed  themselves  behind  their  chairs, 
while  the  footman  left  the  room.  But  he  ordered  us  all 
to  sit  down,  and  called  the  men  back  to  hand  about  some 
wine.  He  was  in  exceeding  high  spirits,  and  in  the  ut- 
most good  humour.  He  placed  himself  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  next  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  and  looked  remark- 
ably well,  gay,  and  full  of  sport  and  mischief ;  yet  clever 
withal,  as  well  as  comical. 

"  *  Well,  this  is  the  first  day  I  have  ever  dined  with  the 
King  at  St.  James's  on  his  birthday.  Pray,  have  you  all 
drunk  his  Majesty's  health? ' 

"  '  No,  your  Royal  Highness ;  your  Royal  Highness 
might  make  dem  do  dat,'  said  Mrs.  Schwellenberg. 

"  *  Oh,  by ,  I  will!    Here,  you  '  (to  the  footman) , 

*  bring  champagne;  I'll  drink  the  King's  health  again, 
if  I  die  for  it.  Yes,  I  have  done  it  pretty  well  already ; 
so  has  the  King,  I  promise  you!  I  believe  his  Majesty 
was  never  taken  such  good  care  of  before ;  we  have  kept 


GEORGE  THE  FOURTH  125 

his  spirits  up,  I  promise  you ;  we  have  enabled  him  to  go 
through  his  fatigues ;  and  I  should  have  done  more  still, 
but  for  the  ball  and  Mary;— I  have  promised  to  dance 
with  Mary.    I  must  keep  sober  for  Mary.'  " 

Indefatigable  Miss  Burney  continues  for  a  dozen 
pages  reporting  H.R.H.'s  conversation,  and  indicating, 
with  a  humour  not  unworthy  of  the  clever  little  author  of 
"  Evelina,"  the  increasing  state  of  excitement  of  the 
young  sailor  Prince,  who  drank  more  and  more  cham- 
pagne, stopped  old  Mrs.  Schwellenberg's  remonstrances 
by  giving  the  old  lady  a  kiss,  and  telling  her  to  hold  her 
potato-trap,  and  who  did  not  "  keep  sober  for  Mary." 
Mary  had  to  find  another  partner  that  night,  for  the 
royal  William  Henry  could  not  keep  his  legs. 

Will  you  have  a  picture  of  the  amusements  of  another 
royal  prince?  It  is  the  Duke  of  York,  the  blundering 
general,  the  beloved  commander-in-chief  of  the  army, 
the  brother  with  whom  George  IV.  had  had  many  a  mid- 
night carouse,  and  who  continued  his  habits  of  pleasure 
almost  till  death  seized  his  stout  body. 

In  Piickler  Muskau's  "  Letters,"  that  German  Prince 
describes  a  bout  with  H.R.H.,  who  in  his  best  time  was 
such  a  powerful  toper  that  "  six  bottles  of  claret  after 
dinner  scarce  made  a  perceptible  change  in  his  counte- 
nance." 

"  I  remember,"  says  Piickler,  "  that  one  evening,— 
indeed,  it  was  past  midnight,— he  took  some  of  his 
guests,  among  whom  were  the  Austrian  ambassador, 
Count  Meervelt,  Count  Beroldingen,  and  myself,  into 
his  beautiful  armoury.  We  tried  to  swing  several  Turk- 
ish sabres,  but  none  of  us  had  a  very  firm  grasp ;  whence 
it  happened  that  the  Duke  and  Meervelt  both  scratched 
themselves  with  a  sort  of  straight  Indian  sword  so  as  to 


126  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

draw  blood.  Meervelt  then  wished  to  try  if  the  sword 
cut  as  well  as  a  Damascus,  and  attempted  to  cut  through 
one  of  the  wax  candles  that  stood  on  the  table.  The  ex- 
periment answered  so  ill,  that  both  the  candles,  candle- 
sticks and  all,  fell  to  the  ground  and  were  extinguished. 
While  we  were  groping  in  the  dark  and  trying  to  find 
the  door,  the  Duke's  aide-de-camp  stammered  out  in 
great  agitation,  '  By  G— ,  sir,  I  remember  the  sword  is 
poisoned! ' 

"  You  may  conceive  the  agreeable  feelings  of  the 
wounded  at  this  intelligence!  Happily,  on  further  ex- 
amination, it  appeared  that  claret,  and  not  poison,  was 
at  the  bottom  of  the  colonel's  exclamation." 

And  now  I  have  one  more  story  of  the  bacchanalian 
sort,  in  which  Clarence  and  York,  and  the  very  highest 
personage  of  the  realm,  the  great  Prince  Regent,  all 
play  parts.  The  feast  took  place  at  the  Pavilion  at 
Brighton,  and  was  described  to  me  by  a  gentleman  who 
was  present  at  the  scene.  In  Gilray's  caricatures,  and 
amongst  Fox's  jolty  associates,  there  figures  a  great  no- 
bleman, the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  called  Jockey  of  Norfolk 
in  his  time,  and  celebrated  for  his  table  exploits.  He  had 
quarrelled  with  the  Prince,  like  the  rest  of  the  Whigs; 
but  a  sort  of  reconciliation  had  taken  place;  and  now, 
being  a  very  old  man,  the  Prince  invited  him  to  dine  and 
sleep  at  the  Pavilion,  and  the  old  Duke  drove  over  from 
his  Castle  of  Arundel  with  his  famous  equipage  of  grey 
horses,  still  remembered  in  Sussex. 

The  Prince  of  Wales  had  concocted  with  his  royal 
brothers  a  notable  scheme  for  making  the  old  man 
drunk.  Every  person  at  table  was  enjoined  to  drink 
wine  with  the  Duke — a  challenge  which  the  old  toper  did 
not  refuse.    Pie  soon  began  to  see  that  there  was  a  con- 


GEORGE  THE  FOURTH  127 

spiracy  against  him;  he  drank  glass  for  glass;  he  over- 
threw many  of  the  brave.  At  last  the  First  Gentleman 
of  Europe  proposed  bumpers  of  brandy.  One  of  the 
royal  brothers  filled  a  great  glass  for  the  Duke.  He 
stood  up  and  tossed  off  the  drink.  "  Now,"  says  he,  "  I 
will  have  my  carriage,  and  go  home."  The  Prince 
urged  upon  him  his  previous  promise  to  sleep  under  the 
roof  where  he  had  been  so  generously  entertained. 
"  No,"  he  said;  he  had  had  enough  of  such  hospitality. 
A  trap  had  been  set  for  him ;  he  would  leave  the  place  at 
once  and  never  enter  its  doors  more. 

The  carriage  was  called,  and  came;  but,  in  the  half- 
hour's  interval,  the  liquor  had  proved  too  potent  for  the 
old  man ;  his  host's  generous  purpose  was  answered,  and 
the  Duke's  old  grey  head  lay  stupefied  on  the  table. 
Nevertheless,  when  his  post-chaise  was  announced,  he 
staggered  to  it  as  well  as  he  could,  and  stumbling  in, 
bade  the  postilions  drive  to  Arundel.  They  drove  him 
for  half  an  hour  round  and  round  the  Pavilion  lawn ;  the 
poor  old  man  fancied  he  was  going  home.  When  he 
awoke  that  morning  he  was  in  bed  at  the  Prince's  hide- 
ous house  at  Brighton.  You  may  see  the  place  now  for 
sixpence:  they  have  fiddlers  there  every  day;  and  some- 
times buffoons  and  mountebanks  hire  the  Riding  House 
and  do  their  tricks  and  tumbling  there.  The  trees  are 
still  there,  and  the  gravel  walks  round  which  the  poor 
old  sinner  was  trotted.  I  can  fancy  the  flushed  faces  of 
the  royal  princes  as  they  support  themselves  at  the  por- 
tico pillars,  and  look  on  at  old  Norfolk's  disgrace;  but 
I  can't  fancy  how  the  man  who  perpetrated  it  continued 
to  be  called  a  gentleman. 

From  drinking,  the  pleased  Muse  now  turns  to  gamb- 
ling, of  which  in  his  youth  our  Prince  was  a  great  prac- 


128  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

titioner.  He  was  a  famous  pigeon  for  the  play -men; 
they  lived  upon  him.  Egalite  Orleans,  it  was  believed, 
punished  him  severely.  A  noble  lord,  whom  we  shall  call 
the  Marquis  of  Steyne,  is  said  to  have  mulcted  him  in 
immense  sums.  He  frequented  the  clubs,  where  play 
was  then  almost  universal;  and,  as  it  was  known  his 
debts  of  honour  were  sacred,  whilst  he  was  gambling 
Jews  waited  outside  to  purchase  his  notes  of  hand.  His 
transactions  on  the  turf  were  unlucky  as  well  as  discred- 
itable: though  I  believe  he,  and  his  jockey,  and  his  horse. 
Escape,  were  all  innocent  in  that  affair  which  created  so 
much  scandal. 

Arthur's,  Almack's,  Boodle's,  and  White's  were  the 
chief  clubs  of  the  young  men  of  fashion.  There  was  play 
at  all,  and  decayed  noblemen  and  broken-down  senators 
fleeced  the  unwary  there.  In  Selwyn's  "  Letters  "  we 
find  Carlisle,  Devonshire,  Coventry,  Queensberry,  all 
undergoing  the  probation.  Charles  Fox,  a  dreadful 
gambler,  was  cheated  in  very  late  times— lost  200,000/. 
at  play.  Gibbon  tells  of  his  playing  for  twenty-two 
hours  at  a  sitting,  and  losing  500/.  an  hour.  That  in- 
domitable punter  said  that  the  greatest  pleasure  in  life, 
after  winning,  was  losing.  What  hours,  what  nights, 
what  health  did  he  waste  over  the  devil's  books!  I  was 
going  to  say  what  peace  of  mind ;  but  he  took  his  losses 
very  philosophically.  After  an  awful  night's  play,  and 
the  enjoyment  of  the  greatest  pleasure  but  one  in  life, 
he  was  found  on  a  sofa  tranquilly  reading  an  Eclogue  of 
Virgil. 

Play  survived  long  after  the  wild  Prince  and  Fox  had 
given  up  the  dice-box.  The  dandies  continued  it.  Byron, 
Brummell— how  many  names  could  I  mention  of  men  of 
the  world  who  have  suffered  by  it!    In  1837  occurred  a 


GEORGE   THE   FOURTH  129 

famous  trial  which  pretty  nigh  put  an  end  to  gambhng 
in  England.  A  peer  of  the  realm  was  found  cheating  at 
whist,  and  repeatedly  seen  to  practise  the  trick  called 
sauter  la  coupe.  His  friends  at  the  clubs  saw  him  cheat, 
and  went  on  playing  with  him.  One  greenhorn,  who 
had  discovered  his  foul  play,  asked  an  old  hand  what  he 
should  do.  "  Do,"  said  the  Mammon  of  Unrighteous- 
ness, "  Bach  him,  you  fooV  The  best  efforts  were 
made  to  screen  him.  People  wrote  him  anonymous  let- 
ters and  warned  him ;  but  he  would  cheat,  and  they  were 
obliged  to  find  him  out.  Since  that  day,  when  my  lord's 
shame  was  made  public,  the  gaming-table  has  lost  all  its 
splendour.  Shabby  Jews  and  blacklegs  prowl  about 
racecourses  and  tavern  parlours,  and  now  and  then  in- 
veigle silly  yokels  with  greasy  packs  of  cards  in  railroad 
cars;  but  Play  is  a  deposed  goddess,  her  worshippers 
bankrupt  and  her  table  in  rags. 

So  is  another  famous  British  institution  gone  to  decay 
—the  Ring:  the  noble  practice  of  British  boxing,  which 
in  my  youth  was  still  almost  flourishing. 

The  Prince,  in  his  early  days,  was  a  great  patron  of 
this  national  sport,  as  his  grand-uncle  Culloden  Cum- 
berland had  been  before  him;  but,  being  present  at  a 
fight  at  Brighton,  where  one  of  the  combatants  was 
killed,  the  Prince  pensioned  the  boxer's  widow,  and  de- 
clared he  never  would  attend  another  battle.  "  But  nev- 
ertheless,"—I  read  in  the  noble  language  of  Pierce 
Egan  (whose  smaller  work  on  Pugilism  I  have  the  hon- 
our to  possess),— "  he  thought  it  a  manly  and  decided 
English  feature,  which  ought  not  to  be  destroyed.  His 
Majesty  had  a  drawing  of  the  sporting  characters  in  the 
Fives'  Court  placed  in  his  boudoir,  to  remind  him  of  his 
former  attachment  and  support  of  true  courage;  and 


130  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

when  any  fight  of  note  occurred  after  he  was  king,  ac- 
counts of  it  were  read  to  him  by  his  desire."  That  gives 
one  a  fine  image  of  a  king  taking  his  recreation;— at  ease 
in  a  royal  dressing-gown;— too  majestic  to  read  himself, 
ordering  the  prime  minister  to  read  him  accounts  of 
battles:  how  Cribb  punched  Molyneux's  eye,  or  Jack 
Randall  thrashed  the  Game  Chicken. 

Where  my  Prince  did  actually  distinguish  himself 
was  in  driving.  He  drove  once  in  four  hours  and  a  half 
from  Brighton  to  Carlton  House— fifty-six  miles.  All 
the  young  men  of  that  day  were  fond  of  that  sport.  But 
the  fashion  of  rapid  driving  deserted  England;  and,  I 
believe,  trotted  over  to  America.  Where  are  the  amuse- 
ments of  our  youth?  I  hear  of  no  gambling  now  but 
amongst  obscure  ruffians ;  of  no  boxing  but  amongst  the 
lowest  rabble.  One  solitary  four-in-hand  still  drove 
round  the  parks  in  London  last  year ;  but  that  charioteer 
mrust  soon  disappear.  He  was  very  old;  he  was  attired 
after  the  fashion  of  the  year  1825.  He  must  drive  to  the 
banks  of  Stj^x  ere  long,— where  the  ferry-boat  waits  to 
carry  him  over  to  the  defunct  revellers  who  boxed  and 
gambled  and  drank  and  drove  with  King  George. 

The  bravery  of  the  Brunswicks,  that  all  the  family 
must  have  it,  that  George  possessed  it,  are  points  which 
all  English  writers  have  agreed  to  admit;  and  yet  I 
cannot  see  how  George  IV.  should  have  been  endowed 
with  this  quality.  Swaddled  in  feather-beds  all  his  life, 
lazy,  obese,  perpetually  eating  and  drinking,  his  educa- 
tion was  quite  unlike  that  of  his  tough  old  progenitors. 
His  grandsires  had  confronted  hardship  and  war,  and 
ridden  up  and  fired  their  pistols  undaunted  into  the  face 
of  death.  His  father  had  conquered  luxury  and  over- 
come indolence.    Here  was  one  who  never  resisted  any 


GEORGE  THE   FOURTH  131 

temptation ;  never  had  a  desire  but  he  coddled  and  pam- 
pered it;  if  ever  he  had  any  nerve,  frittered  it  away 
among  cooks,  and  tailors,  and  barbers,  and  furniture- 
mongers,  and  opera-dancers.  What  muscle  would  not 
grow  flaccid  in  such  a  life— a  life  that  was  never  strung 
up  to  any  action— an  endless  Capua  without  any  cam- 
paign—all fiddhng,  and  flowers,  and  feasting,  and  flat- 
tery, and  folly?  When  George  III.  was  pressed  by  the 
Catholic  question  and  the  India  Bill,  he  said  he  would 
retire  to  Hanover  rather  than  yield  upon  either  point; 
and  he  would  have  done  what  he  said.  But,  before  yield- 
ing, he  was  determined  to  fight  his  Ministers  and  Par- 
liament ;  and  he  did,  and  he  beat  them.  The  time  came 
when  George  IV.  was  pressed  too  upon  the  Catholic 
claims;  the  cautious  Peel  had  slipped  over  to  that  side; 
the  grim  old  Wellington  had  joined  it;  and  Peel  tells 
us,  in  his  "  Memoirs,"  what  was  the  conduct  of  the  King. 
He  at  first  refused  to  submit;  whereupon  Peel  and  the 
Duke  ofl'ered  their  resignations,  which  their  gracious 
master  accepted.  He  did  these  two  gentlemen  the  hon- 
our. Peel  says,  to  kiss  them  both  when  they  went  away. 
(Fancy  old  Arthur's  grim  countenance  and  eagle  beak 
as  the  monarch  kisses  it !)  When  they  were  gone  he  sent 
after  them,  surrendered,  and  Avrote  to  them  a  letter  beg- 
ging them  to  remain  in  office,  and  allowing  them  to  have 
their  way.  Then  his  Majesty  had  a  meeting  with  Eldon, 
which  is  related  at  curious  length  in  the  latter 's  "  Me- 
moirs." He  told  Eldon  what  was  not  true  about  his 
interview  with  the  new  Catholic  converts ;  utterly  misled 
the  old  ex-Chancellor;  cried,  whimpered,  fell  on  his  neck, 
and  kissed  him  too.  We  know  old  Eldon's  own  tears 
were  pumped  very  freely.  Did  these  two  fountains 
gush  together?     I  can't  fancy  a  behaviour  more  un- 


132  THE   FOUR   GEORGES 

manly,  imbecile,  pitiable.  This  a  defender  of  the  faith! 
This  a  chief  in  the  crisis  of  a  great  nation !  This  an  in- 
heritor of  the  courage  of  the  Georges! 

Many  of  my  hearers  no  doubt  have  journeyed  to  the 
pretty  old  town  of  Brunswick,  in  company  with  that 
most  worthy,  prudent,  and  polite  gentleman,  the  Earl 
of  Malmesbury,  and  fetched  away  Princess  Caroline  for 
her  longing  husband,  the  Prince  of  Wales.  Old  Queen 
Charlotte  would  have  had  her  eldest  son  marry  a  niece 
of  her  own,  that  famous  Louisa  of  Strelitz,  afterwards 
Queen  of  Prussia,  and  who  shares  with  Marie  Antoi- 
nette in  the  last  age  the  sad  pre-eminence  of  beauty  and 
misfortune.  But  George  III.  had  a  niece  at  Brunswick: 
she  was  a  richer  princess  than  her  Serene  Highness  of 
Strelitz:— in  fine,  the  Princess  Caroline  was  selected  to 
marry  the  heir  to  the  English  throne.  We  follow  my 
Lord  Malmesbury  in  quest  of  her ;  we  are  introduced  to 
her  illustrious  father  and  royal  mother;  we  witness  the 
balls  and  fetes  of  the  old  court ;  we  are  presented  to  the 
Princess  herself,  with  her  fair  hair,  her  blue  eyes,  and 
her  impertinent  shoulders— a  lively,  bouncing,  romping 
Princess,  who  takes  the  advice  of  her  courtly  English 
mentor  most  generously  and  kindly.  We  can  be  present 
at  her  very  toilette,  if  we  like ;  regarding  which,  and  for 
very  good  reasons,  the  British  courtier  implores  her  to 
be  particular.  What  a  strange  court!  What  a  queer 
privacy  of  morals  and  manners  do  we  look  into!  Shall 
we  regard  it  as  preachers  and  moralists,  and  cry  Woe, 
against  the  open  vice  and  selfishness  and  corruption;  or 
look  at  it  as  we  do  at  the  king  in  the  pantomime,  with  his 
pantomime  wife  and  pantomime  courtiers,  whose  big 
heads  he  knocks  together,  whom  he  pokes  with  his  pan- 
tomime sceptre,  whom  he  orders  to  prison  under  the 


GEORGE   THE   FOURTH  133 

guard  of  his  pantomime  beefeaters,  as  he  sits  down  to 
dine  on  his  pantomime  pudding?  It  is  grave,  it  is  sad; 
it  is  theme  most  curious  for  moral  and  political  specu- 
lation; it  is  monstrous,  grotesque,  laughable,  with  its 
prodigious  littlenesses,  etiquettes,  ceremonials,  sham  mo- 
ralities; it  is  as  serious  as  a  sermon,  and  as  absurd  and 
outrageous  as  Punch's  puppet-show. 

Malmesbury  tells  us  of  the  private  life  of  the  Duke, 
Princess  Caroline's  father  who  was  to  die,  like  his  war- 
like son,  in  arms  against  the  French;  presents  us  to  his 
courtiers,  his  favourite;  his  Duchess,  George  III.'s 
sister,  a  grim  old  Princess,  who  took  the  British  envoy 
aside,  and  told  him  wicked  old  stories  of  wicked  old  dead 
people  and  times;  who  came  to  England  afterwards 
when  her  nephew  was  regent,  and  lived  in  a  shabby  fur- 
nished lodging,  old,  and  dingy,  and  deserted,  and  gro- 
tesque, but  somehow  royal.  And  we  go  with  him  to  the 
Duke  to  demand  the  Princess's  hand  in  form,  and  we 
hear  the  Brunswick  guns  fire  their  adieux  of  salute,  as 
H.R.H.  the  Princess  of  Wales  departs  in  the  frost  and 
snow;  and  we  visit  the  domains  of  the  Prince  Bishop  of 
Osnaburg— the  Duke  of  York  of  our  early  time;  and 
we  dodge  about  from  the  French  revolutionists,  whose 
ragged  legions  are  pouring  over  Holland  and  Ger- 
many, and  gaily  trampling  down  the  old  world  to  the 
tune  of  pa  ii'aj  and  we  take  shipping  at  Slade,  and  we 
land  at  Greenwich,  where  the  Princess's  ladies  and  the 
Prince's  ladies  are  in  waiting  to  receive  her  Royal 
Highness. 

What  a  history  follows!  Arrived  in  London,  the 
bridegroom  hastened  eagerly  to  receive  his  bride.  When 
she  was  first  presented  to  him.  Lord  Malmesbury  says 
she  very  properly  attempted  to  kneel.     He  raised  her 


134  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

gracefull}'  enough,  embraced  her,  and  turning  round  to 
me,  said, — 

"  Harris,  I  am  not  well;  pray  get  me  a  glass  of 
brandy." 

I  said,  "  Sir,  had  you  not  better  have  a  glass  of 
water?  " 

Upon  which,  much  out  of  humour,  he  said,  with  an 
oath,  "  No;  I  will  go  to  the  Queen." 

What  could  be  expected  from  a  wedding  which  had 
such  a  beginning— from  such  a  bridegroom  and  such  a 
bride?  I  am  not  going  to  carry  you  through  the  scandal 
of  that  story,  or  follow  the  poor  Princess  through  all  her 
vagaries;  her  balls  and  her  dances,  her  travels  to  Jeru- 
salem and  Naples,  her  jigs,  and  her  junketings,  and  her 
tears.  As  I  read  her  trial  in  history,  I  vote  she  is  not 
guilty.  I  don't  say  it  is  an  impartial  verdict ;  but  as  one 
reads  her  story  the  heart  bleeds  for  the  kindly,  generous, 
outraged  creature.  If  wrong  there  be,  let  it  lie  at  his 
door  who  wickedly  thrust  her  from  it.  Spite  of  her  fol- 
lies, the  great  hearty  people  of  England  loved,  and  pro- 
tected, and  pitied  her.  "  God  bless  you!  we  will  bring 
your  husband  back  to  you,"  said  a  mechanic  one  day,  as 
she  told  Lady  Charlotte  Bury  with  tears  streaming 
down  her  cheeks.  They  could  not  bring  that  husband 
back ;  they  could  not  cleanse  that  selfish  heart.  Was  hers 
the  only  one  he  had  wounded?  Steeped  in  selfishness, 
impotent  for  faithful  attachment  and  manly  enduring 
love,— had  it  not  survived  remorse,  was  it  not  accus- 
tomed to  desertion? 

Malmesbury  gives  us  the  beginning  of  the  marriage 
story;— how  the  Prince  reeled  into  chapel  to  be  married; 
how  he  hiccupped  out  his  vows  of  fidelity — you  know 
how  he  kept  them ;  how  he  pursued  the  woman  whom  he 


GEORGE   THE   FOURTH 


135 


had  married ;  to  what  a  state  he  brought  her ;  with  what 
blows  he  struck  her;  with  what  mahgnity  he  jjursued 
her;  what  his  treatment  of  his  daughter  was;  and  what 


THE    PRINCE    AND    PRINCESS    OF   WALES 


his  own  life.  He  the  first  gentleman  of  Europe !  There 
is  no  stronger  satire  on  the  proud  English  society  of  that 
day,  than  that  they  admired  George. 

No,  thank  God,  we  can  tell  of  better  gentlemen;  and 
whilst  our  eyes  turn  away,  shocked,  from  this  monstrous 
image  of  pride,  vanity,  weakness,  they  may  see  in  that 
England  over  which  the  last  George  pretended  to  reign, 
some  who  merit  indeed  the  title  of  gentlemen,  some  who 


136  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

make  our  hearts  beat  when  we  hear  their  names,  and 
whose  memory  we  fondly  salute  when  that  of  yonder 
imperial  manikin  is  tumbled  into  oblivion.  I  will  take 
men  of  my  own  profession  of  letters.  I  will  take  Walter 
Scott,  who  loved  the  King,  and  who  was  his  sword  and 
buckler,  and  championed  him  like  that  brave  High- 
lander in  his  own  story,  who  fights  round  his  craven 
chief.  What  a  good  gentleman !  What  a  friendly  soul, 
what  a  generous  hand,  what  an  amiable  life  was  that  of 
the  noble  Sir  Walter!  I  will  take  another  man  of  let- 
ters, whose  life  I  admire  even  more,— an  English  wor- 
thy, doing  his  duty  for  fifty  noble  years  of  labour,  day 
by  day  storing  up  learning,  day  by  day  working  for 
scant  wages,  most  charitable  out  of  his  small  means, 
bravely  faithful  to  the  calling  which  he  had  chosen,  re- 
fusing to  turn  from  his  path  for  popular  praise  or 
princes'  favour;— I  mean  Robert  Southey.  We  have 
left  his  old  political  landmarks  miles  and  miles  behind; 
we  protest  against  his  dogmatism ;  nay,  we  begin  to  for- 
get it  and  his  politics :  but  I  hope  his  life  will  not  be  for- 
gotten, for  it  is  sublime  in  its  simplicity,  its  energy,  its 
honour,  its  affection.  In  the  combat  between  Time  and 
Thalaba,  I  suspect  the  former  destroyer  has  conquered. 
Kehama's  curse  frightens  very  few  readers  now;  but 
Southey's  private  letters  are  worth  piles  of  epics,  and  are 
sure  to  last  among  us,  as  long  as  kind  hearts  like  to  sym- 
pathize with  goodness  and  purity,  and  love  and  upright 
life.  "  If  your  feehngs  are  like  mine,"  he  writes  to  his 
wife,  "  I  will  not  go  to  Lisbon  without  you,  or  I  will 
stay  at  home,  and  not  part  from  you.  For  though  not 
unhappy  when  away,  still  without  you  I  am  not  happy. 
For  your  sake,  as  well  as  my  own  and  little  Edith's,  I 
will  not  consent  to  any  separation;  the  growth  of  a 


GEORGE  THE  FOURTH  137 

year's  love  between  her  and  me,  if  it  please  God  she 
should  live,  is  a  thing  too  delightful  in  itself,  and  too 
valuable  in  its  consequences,  to  be  given  up  for  any  light 
inconvenience  on  your  part  or  mine.  ...  On  these 
things  we  will  talk  at  leisure ;  only,  dear,  dear  Edith,  we 
must  not  part! " 

This  was  a  poor  literary  gentleman.  The  First  Gen- 
tleman in  Europe  had  a  wife  and  daughter  too.  Did  he 
love  them  so?  Was  he  faithful  to  them?  Did  he  sacri- 
fice ease  for  them,  or  show  them  the  sacred  examples  of 
religion  and  honour?  Heaven  gave  the  Great  English 
Prodigal  no  such  good  fortune.  Peel  proposed  to  make 
a  baronet  of  Southey ;  and  to  this  advancement  the  King 
agreed.    The  poet  nobly  rejected  the  offered  promotion. 

"  I  have,"  he  wrote,  "  a  pension  of  200Z.  a  year,  con- 
ferred upon  me  by  the  good  offices  of  my  old  friend  C. 
Wynn,  and  I  have  the  laureateship.  The  salary  of  the 
latter  was  immediately  appropriated,  as  far  as  it  went, 
to  a  life-insurance  for  3,000/.,  which,  with  an  earlier  in- 
surance, is  the  sole  provision  I  have  made  for  my  family. 
All  beyond  must  be  derived  from  my  own  industry. 
Writing  for  a  livelihood,  a  livelihood  is  all  that  I  have 
gained;  for,  having  also  something  better  in  view,  and 
never,  therefore,  having  courted  popularity,  nor  written 
for  the  mere  sake  of  gain,  it  has  not  been  possible  for  me 
to  lay  by  anything.  Last  year,  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life,  I  was  provided  with  a  year's  expenditure  before- 
hand. This  exposition  may  show  how  unbecoming  and 
unwise  it  would  be  to  accept  the  rank  which,  so  greatly 
to  my  honour,  you  have  solicited  for  me." 

How  noble  his  poverty  is,  compared  to  the  wealth  of 
his  master!  His  acceptance  even  of  a  pension  was  made 
the  object  of  his  opponents'  satire :  but  think  of  the  merit 


138  THE   FOUR  GEORGES 

and  modesty  of  this  State  pensioner;  and  that  other 
enormous  drawer  of  pubHc  money,  who  receives  100,- 
OOOl.  a  year,  and  comes  to  Parliament  with  a  request  for 
650,000/.  more! 

Another  true  knight  of  those  days  was  Cuthbert  Col- 
lingwood;  and  I  think,  since  heaven  made  gentlemen, 
there  is  no  record  of  a  better  one  than  that.  Of  brighter 
deeds,  I  grant  you,  we  may  read  performed  by  others; 
but  where  of  a  nobler,  kinder,  more  beautiful  life  of 
duty,  of  a  gentler,  truer  heart?  Beyond  dazzle  of  suc- 
cess and  blaze  of  genius,  I  fancy  shining  a  hundred  and 
a  hundred  times  higher,  the  sublime  purity  of  Colling- 
wood's  gentle  glory.  His  heroism  stirs  British  hearts 
when  we  recall  it.  His  love,  and  goodness,  and  piety 
make  one  thrill  with  happy  emotion.  As  one  reads  of 
him  and  his  great  comrade  going  into  the  victory  with 
which  their  names  are  immortally  connected,  how  the  old 
English  word  comes  up,  and  that  old  English  feeling  of 
what  I  should  like  to  call  Christian  honour!  What  gen- 
tlemen they  were,  what  great  hearts  they  had!  "  We 
can,  my  dear  Coll,"  writes  Nelson  to  him,  "  have  no  little 
jealousies;  we  have  only  one  great  object  in  view,— that 
of  meeting  the  enemy,  and  getting  a  glorious  peace  for 
our  country."  At  Trafalgar,  when  the  "  Royal  Sover- 
eign" was  pressing  alone  into  the  midst  of  the  combined 
fleets.  Lord  Nelson  said  to  Captain  Blackwood:  "  See 
how  that  noble  fellow,  Collingwood,  takes  his  ship  into 
action!  How  I  envy  him! "  The  very  same  throb  and 
impulse  of  heroic  generosity  was  beating  in  Colling- 
wood's  honest  bosom.  As  he  led  into  the  fight,  he  said: 
*'  What  would  Nelson  give  to  be  here!  " 

After  the  action  of  the  1st  of  June,  he  writes:—"  We 
cruised  for  a  few  days,  like  disappointed  people  looking 


GEORGE   THE   FOURTH  139 

for  what  they  could  not  find,  until  the  morning  of  little 
Sarah's  birthday,  between  eight  and  nine  o'clock,  when 
the  French  fleet,  of  twenty-five  sail  of  the  line,  was  dis- 
covered to  windward.  We  chased  them,  and  they  bore 
down  within  about  five  miles  of  us.  The  night  was  spent 
in  watching  and  preparation  for  the  succeeding  day ;  and 
many  a  blessing  did  I  send  forth  to  my  Sarah,  lest  I 
should  never  bless  her  more.  At  dawn,  we  made  our  ap- 
proach on  the  enemy,  then  drew  up,  dressed  our  ranks, 
and  it  was  about  eight  when  the  admiral  made  the  signal 
for  each  ship  to  engage  her  opponent,  and  bring  her  to 
close  action;  and  then  down  we  went  under  a  crowd  of 
sail,  and  in  a  manner  that  would  have  animated  the  cold- 
est heart,  and  struck  terror  into  the  most  intrepid  en- 
emy. The  ship  we  were  to  engage  was  two  ahead  of  the 
French  admiral,  so  we  had  to  go  through  his  fire  and 
that  of  two  ships  next  to  him,  and  received  all  their 
broadsides  two  or  three  times,  before  we  fired  a  gun.  It 
was  then  near  ten  o'clock.  I  observed  to  the  admiral, 
that  about  that  time  our  wives  were  going  to  church,  but 
that  I  thought  the  peal  we  should  ring  about  the  French- 
man's ear  would  outdo  their  parish  bells." 

There  are  no  words  to  tell  what  the  heart  feels  in 
reading  the  simple  phrases  of  such  a  hero.  Here  is  vic- 
tory and  courage,  but  love  sublimer  and  superior.  Here 
is  a  Christian  soldier  spending  the  night  before  battle  in 
watching  and  preparing  for  the  succeeding  day,  think- 
ing of  his  dearest  home,  and  sending  many  blessings 
forth  to  his  Sarah,  "  lest  he  should  never  bless  her  more." 
Who  would  not  say  Amen  to  his  supplication?  It  was 
a  benediction  to  his  country— the  prayer  of  that  intrepid 
loving  heart. 

We  have  spoken  of  a  good  soldier  and  good  men  of 


140  THE  FOUR  GEORGES 

letters  as  specimens  of  English  gentlemen  of  the  age 
just  past:  may  we  not  also— many  of  my  elder  hearers, 
I  am  sure,  have  read,  and  fondly  remember  his  delight- 
ful story— speak  of  a  good  divine,  and  mention  Regi- 
nald Heber  as  one  of  the  best  of  Enghsh  gentlemen? 
The  charming  poet,  the  happy  possessor  of  all  sorts  of 
gifts  and  accomplishments,  birth,  wit,  fame,  high  char- 
acter, competence— he  was  the  beloved  parish  priest  in 
his  own  home  of  Hoderel,  "  counselling  his  people  in 
their  troubles,  advising  them  in  their  difficulties,  com- 
forting them  in  distress,  kneeling  often  at  their  sick  beds 
at  the  hazard  of  his  own  life;  exhorting,  encouraging 
where  there  was  need ;  where  there  was  strife  the  peace- 
maker; where  there  was  want  the  free  giver." 

When  the  Indian  bishopric  was  oiFered  to  him  he  re- 
fused at  first;  but  after  communing  with  himself  (and 
committing  his  case  to  the  quarter  whither  such  pious 
men  are  wont  to  carry  their  doubts) ,  he  withdrew  his  re- 
fusal, and  prepared  himself  for  his  mission  and  to  leave 
his  beloved  parish.  "  Little  children,  love  one  another, 
and  forgive  one  another,"  were  the  last  sacred  words  he 
said  to  his  weeping  people.  He  parted  with  them,  know- 
ing, perhaps,  he  should  see  them  no  more.  Like  those 
other  good  men  of  whom  we  have  just  spoken,  love  and 
duty  were  his  life's  aim.  Happy  he,  happy  they  who 
were  so  gloriously  faithful  to  both!  He  writes  to  his 
wife  those  charming  lines  on  his  journey: — 

"  If  thou,  my  love,  wert  by  my  side,  my  babies  at  my  knee. 
How  gladly  would  our  pinnace  glide  o'er  Gunga's  mimic  sea ! 

I  miss  thee  at  the  dawning  gray,  when,  on  our  deck  reclined, 
In  careless  ease  my  limbs  I  lay  and  woo  the  cooler  wind. 


GEORGE  THE  FOURTH  141 

I  miss  thee  when  by  Gunga's  stream  my  twilight  steps  I  guide ; 
But  most  beneath  the  lamp's  pale  beam  I  miss  thee  by  my  side. 

I  spread  my  books,  my  pencil  try,  the  lingering  moon  to  cheer ; 
But  miss  thy  kind  approving  eye,  thy  meek  attentive  ear. 

But  when  of  morn  and  eve  the  star  beholds  me  on  my  knee, 
I  feel,  though  thou  art  distant  far,  thy  prayers  ascend  for  me. 

Then  on !  then  on !  where  duty  leads  my  course  be  onward 

still,— 
O'er  broad  Hindostan's  sultry  meads,  o'er  bleak  Almorah's  hill. 

That  course  nor  Delhi's  kingly  gates,  nor  wild  Malwah  detain. 
For  sweet  the  bliss  us  both  awaits  by  yonder  western  main. 

Thy  towers,  Bombay,  gleam  bright,  they  say,  across  the  dark 

blue  sea: 
But  ne'er  were  hearts  so  blithe  and  gay  as  there  shall  meet  in 

thee!" 

Is  it  not  CoUingwood  and  Sarah,  and  Southey  and 
Edith?  His  affection  is  part  of  his  life.  What  were 
life  without  it?  Without  love,  I  can  fancy  no  gentle- 
man. 

How  touching  is  a  remark  Heber  makes  in  his 
"  Travels  through  India,"  that  on  inquiring  of  the  na- 
tives at  a  town,  which  of  the  governors  of  India  stood 
highest  in  the  opinion  of  the  people,  he  found  that, 
though  Lord  Wellesley  and  Warren  Hastings  were 
honoured  as  the  two  greatest  men  who  had  ever  ruled 
this  part  of  the  world,  the  people  spoke  with  chief  affec- 
tion of  Judge  Cleaveland,  who  had  died,  aged  twenty- 
nine,  in  1784.  The  people  have  built  a  monument  over 
him,  and  still  hold  a  religious  feast  in  his  memory.  So 
does  his  own  country  still  tend  with  a  heart's  regard  the 
memory  of  the  gentle  Heber, 


142  THE  FOUR  GEORGES 

And  Cleaveland  died  in  1784,  and  is  still  loved  by  the 
heathen,  is  he?  Why,  that  year  1784  was  remarkable  in 
the  life  of  our  friend  the  First  Gentleman  of  Europe. 
Do  you  not  know  that  he  was  twenty-one  in  that  year, 
and  opened  Carlton  House  with  a  grand  ball  to  the  no- 
bility and  gentry,  and  doubtless  wore  that  lovely  pink 
coat  which  we  have  described.  I  was  eager  to  read  about 
the  ball,  and  looked  to  the  old  magazines  for  informa- 
tion. The  entertainment  took  place  on  the  10th  Feb- 
ruary. In  the  European  Magazine  of  JNIarch,  1784,  I 
came  straightway  upon  it  :,— 

"  The  alterations  at  Carlton  House  being  finished,  we 
lay  before  our  readers  a  description  of  the  state  apart- 
ments as  they  appeared  on  the  10th  instant,  when 
H.R.H.  gave  a  grand  ball  to  the  principal  nobility  and 

gentry The  entrance  to  the  state  room  fills  the 

mind  with  an  inexpressible  idea  of  greatness  and  splen- 
dour. 

"  The  state  chair  is  of  a  gold  frame,  covered  with 
crimson  damask;  on  each  corner  of  the  feet  is  a  lion's 
head,  expressive  of  fortitude  and  strength;  the  feet  of 
the  chair  have  serpents  twining  round  them,  to  denote 
wisdom.  Facing  the  throne,  appears  the  helmet  of 
Minerva;  and  over  the  windows,  glory  is  represented 
by  Saint  George  with  a  superb  gloria. 

"  But  the  saloon  may  be  styled  the  clief  dfoeuvre,  and 
in  every  ornament  discovers  great  invention.  It  is  hung 
with  a  figured  lemon  satin.  The  window-curtains,  sofas, 
and  chairs  are  of  the  same  colour.  The  ceiling  is  orna- 
mented with  emblematical  paintings,  representing  the 
Graces  and  Muses,  together  with  Jupiter,  ^Mercury, 
Apollo,  and  Paris.  Two  ormolu  chandeliers  are  placed 
here.    It  is  impossible  by  expression  to  do  justice  to  the 


GEORGE   THE   FOURTH  143 

extraordinary  workmanship,  as  well  as  design,  of  the 
ornaments.  They  each  consist  of  a  palm,  branching  out 
in  five  directions  for  the  reception  of  lights.  A  beau- 
tiful figure  of  a  rural  nymph  is  represented  entwining 
the  stems  of  the  tree  with  wreaths  of  flowers.  In  the* 
centre  of  the  room  is  a  rich  chandelier.  To  see  this 
apartment  dans  son  plus  beau  jour,  it  should  be  viewed 
in  the  glass  over  the  chimney-piece.  The  range  of  apart- 
ments from  the  saloon  to  the  ball-room,  when  the  doors 
are  open,  formed  one  of  the  grandest  spectacles  that 
ever  was  beheld." 

In  the  Gentleman's  Magazine,  for  the  very  same 
month  and  year— March,  1784— is  an  account  of  an- 
other festival,  in  which  another  great  gentleman  of  Eng- 
lish extraction  is  represented  as  taking  a  principal 
share: — 

"  According  to  order,  H.E.  the  Commander-in-Chief 
was  admitted  to  a  public  audience  of  Congress;  and, 
being  seated,  the  President,  after  a  pause,  informed  him 
that  the  United  States  assembled  were  ready  to  receive 
his  communications.  Whereupon  he  arose,  and  spoke  as 
follows :  — 

"  '  Mr.  President,— The  great  events  on  which  my 
resignation  depended  having  at  length  taken  place,  I 
present  myself  before  Congress  to  surrender  into  their 
hands  the  trust  committed  to  me,  and  to  claim  the  indul- 
gence of  retiring  from  the  service  of  my  country. 

"  '  Happy  in  the  confirmation  of  our  independence 
and  sovereignty,  I  resign  the  appointment  I  accepted 
with  diffidence;  which,  however,  was  superseded  by  a 
confidence  in  the  rectitude  of  our  cause,  the  support  of 
the  supreme  power  of  the  nation,  and  the  patronage  of 
Heaven.    I  close  this  last  act  of  my  official  life,  by  com- 


144  THE  FOUR  GEORGES 

mending  the  interests  of  our  dearest  country  to  the  pro- 
tection of  Ahnighty  God,  and  those  who  have  the  super- 
intendence of  them  to  His  holy  keeping.  Having 
finished  the  work  assigned  me,  I  retire  from  the  great 
theatre  of  action;  and,  bidding  an  affectionate  farewell 
to  this  august  body,  under  whose  orders  I  have  so  long 
acted,  I  here  offer  my  commission  and  take  my  leave  of 
the  employments  of  my  public  life.'  To  which  the 
President  replied:— 

"  '  Sir,  having  defended  the  standard  of  liberty  in  the 
New  World,  having  taught  a  lesson  useful  to  those  who 
inflict  and  those  who  feel  oppression,  you  retire  with  the 
blessings  of  your  fellow-citizens;  though  the  glory  of 
your  virtues  will  not  terminate  with  your  military  com- 
mand, but  will  descend  to  remotest  ages.'  " 

Which  was  the  most  splendid  spectacle  ever  wit- 
nessed;—the  opening  feast  of  Prince  George  in  Lon- 
don, or  the  resignation  of  Washington?  Which  is  the 
noble  character  for  after  ages  to  admire;— yon  fribble 
dancing  in  lace  and  spangles,  or  yonder  hero  who 
sheathes  his  sword  after  a  life  of  spotless  honour,  a 
purity  unreproached,  a  courage  indomitable,  and  a  con- 
summate victory?  Which  of  these  is  the  true  gentle- 
man? What  is  it  to  be  a  gentleman?  Is  it  to  have  lofty 
aims,  to  lead  a  pure  life,  to  keep  your  honour  virgin ;  to 
have  the  esteem  of  your  fellow-citizens,  and  the  love  of 
your  fireside ;  to  bear  good  fortune  meekly ;  to  suffer  evil 
with  constancy;  and  through  evil  or  good  to  maintain 
truth  always?  Show  me  the  happy  man  whose  life  ex- 
hibits these  qualities,  and  him  we  will  salute  as  gentle- 
man, whatever  his  rank  may  be ;  show  me  the  prince  who 
possesses  them,  and  he  may  be  sure  of  our  love  and  loy- 
alty.   The  heart  of  Britain  still  beats  kindly  for  George 


GEORGE  THE  FOURTH  145 

III.,— not  because  he  was  wise  and  just,  but  because  he 
was  pure  in  hfe,  honest  in  intent,  and  because  according 
to  his  lights  he  worshipped  heaven.  I  think  we  acknow- 
ledge in  the  inheritrix  of  his  sceptre,  a  wiser  rule,  and  a 
life  as  honourable  and  pure;  and  I  am  sure  the  future 
painter  of  our  manners  will  pay  a  willing  allegiance  to 
that  good  life,  and  be  loyal  to  the  memory  of  that  un- 
sullied virtue. 


THE  END  OF 


THE  ENGLISH  HUMOURISTS 

OF    THE 

EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY 


THE  ENGLISH  HUMOURISTS 

OF    THE 

EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY 


SWIFT 


IN  treating  of  the  English  humourists  of  the  past  age, 
it  is  of  the  men  and  of  their  lives,  rather  than  of 
their  books,  that  I  ask  permission  to  speak  to  you;  and 
in  doing  so,  you  are  aware  that  I  cannot  hope  to  enter- 
tain you  with  a  merely  humourous  or  facetious  story. 
Harlequin  without  his  mask  is  known  to  present  a  very 
sober  countenance,  and  was  himself,  the  story  goes,  the 
melancholy  patient  whom  the  Doctor  advised  to  go  and 
see  Harlequin^— a  man  full  of  cares  and  perplexities 
like  the  rest  of  us,  whose  Self  must  always  be  serious 
to  him,  under  whatever  mask  or  disguise  or  uniform 
he  presents  it  to  the  public.  And  as  all  of  you  here  must 
needs  be  grave  when  you  think  of  your  own  past  and 
present,  you  will  not  look  to  find,  in  the  histories  of  those 
whose  lives  and  feelings  I  am  going  to  try  and  describe 
to  you,  a  story  that  is  otherwise  than  serious,  and  often 
very  sad.  If  Humour  only  meant  laughter,  you  would 
scarcely  feel  more  interest  about  humourous  writers  than 
about  the  private  life  of  poor  Harlequin  just  men- 
tioned, who  possesses  in  common  with  these  the  power 

>  The  anecdote  is  frequently  told  of  our  performer  Rich. 
U9 


150  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

of  making  you  laugh.  But  the  men  regarding  whose 
lives  and  stories  your  kind  presence  here  shows  that  you 
have  curiosity  and  sympathy,  appeal  to  a  great  number 
of  our  other  faculties,  besides  our  mere  sense  of  ridicule. 
The  humourous  writer  professes  to  awaken  and  direct 
your  love,  your  pity,  your  kindness— your  scorn  for  un- 
truth, pretension,  imposture— your  tenderness  for  the 
weak,  the  poor,  the  oppressed,  the  unhappy.  To  the  best 
of  his  means  and  ability  he  comments  on  all  the  ordinary 
actions  and  passions  of  life  almost.  He  takes  upon 
himself  to  be  the  week-day  preacher,  so  to  speak.  Ac- 
cordingly, as  he  finds,  and  speaks,  and  feels  the  truth 
best,  we  regard  him,  esteem  him— sometimes  love  him. 
And,  as  his  business  is  to  mark  other  people's  lives  and 
peculiarities,  we  moralize  upon  his  life  when  he  is  gone 
— and  yesterday's  preacher  becomes  the  text  for  to-day's 
sermon. 

Of  English  parents,  and  of  a  good  English  family 
of  clergymen,^  Swift  was  born  in  Dublin  in  1667,  seven 
months  after  the  death  of  his  father,  v/ho  had  come  to 
practise  there  as  a  lawyer.  The  boy  went  to  school  at 
Kilkenny,  and  afterwards  to  Trinity  College,  Dublin, 

*  He  was  from  a  younger  branch  of  the  Swifts  of  Yorkshire.  His  grand- 
father, the  Rev.  Thomas  Swift,  vicar  of  Goodrich,  in  Herefordshire,  sutfered 
for  his  loyalty  in  Charles  I.'s  time.  That  gentleman  married  Elizabeth  Dry- 
den,  a  member  of  the  family  of  the  poet.  Sir  Walter  Scott  gives,  with  his 
characteristic  minuteness  in  such  points,  the  exact  relationship  between 
these  famous  men.  Swift  was  "  the  son  of  Dryden's  second  cousin."  Swift, 
too,  was  the  enemy  of  Dryden's  reputation.  Witness  the  "  Battle  of  the 
Books:"— "The  difference  was  greatest  among  the  horse,"  says  he  of  the 
moderns,  "  where  every  private  trooper  pretended  to  the  command,  from 
Tasso  and  Milton  to  Dryden  and  Withers."  And  in  "Poetry,  a  Rhapsody," 
he  advises  the  poetaster  to— 

"  Read  all  the  Prefaces  of  Dryden, 

For  these  our  critics  much  confide  in. 

Though  merely  writ,  at  first  for  filling, 

To  raise  the  volume's  price  a  shilling." 

"  Cousin  Swift,  you  will  never  be  a  poet,"  was  the  phrase  of  Dryden  to  his 
kinsman,  which  remained  alive  in  a  memory  tenacious  of  such  matters. 


SWIFT  151 

where  he  got  a  degree  with  difficulty,  and  was  wild,  and 
witty,  and  poor.  In  1688,  by  the  recommendation  of  his 
mother,  Swift  was  received  into  the  family  of  Sir  Wil- 
ham  Temple,  who  had  known  Mrs.  Swift  in  Ireland. 
He  left  his  patron  in  1694,  and  the  next  year  took  orders 
in  Dublin.  But  he  threw  up  the  small  Irish  preferment 
which  he  got  and  returned  to  Temple,  in  whose  family 
he  remained  until  Sir  William's  death  in  1699.  His 
hopes  of  advancement  in  England  failing,  Swift  re- 
turned to  Ireland,  and  took  the  living  of  Laracor. 
Hither  he  invited  Hester  Johnson,^  Temple's  natural 
daughter,  with  whom  he  had  contracted  a  tender  friend- 
ship, while  they  w^ere  both  dependants  of  Temple's. 
And  with  an  occasional  visit  to  England,  Swift  now 
passed  nine  years  at  home. 

In  1709  he  came  to  England,  and,  with  a  brief  visit 
to  Ireland,  during  which  he  took  possession  of  his  dean- 
ery of  St.  Patrick,  he  now  passed  five  years  in  England, 
taking  the  most  distinguished  part  in  the  political  trans- 
actions which  terminated  with  the  death  of  Queen  Anne. 
After  her  death,  his  party  disgraced,  and  his  hopes  of 
ambition  over.  Swift  returned  to  Dublin,  where  he  re- 
mained twelve  years.  In  this  time  he  wrote  the  famous 
"Drapier's  Letters"  and  "Gulliver's  Travels."  He 
married  Hester  Johnson,  Stella,  and  buried  Esther 
Vanhomrigh,  Vanessa,  who  had  followed  him  to  Ire- 
land from  London,  where  she  had  contracted  a  violent 
passion  for  him.  In  1726  and  1727  Swift  was  in  Eng- 
land, which  he  quitted  for  the  last  time  on  hearing  of 
his  wife's  illness.  Stella  died  in  January,  1728,  and 
Swift  not  until  1745,  having  passed  the  last  five  of  the 

^ "  Miss  Hetty "  she  was  called  in  the  family— where  her  face,  and  her 
dress,  and  Sir  William's  treatment  of  her,  all  made  the  real  fact  about  her 
birth  plain  enough.    Sir  William  left  her  a  thousand  pounds. 


152  ENGLISH    HUMOURISTS 

seventy-eight  years  of  his  hf e  with  an  impaired  intellect 
and  keepers  to  watch  him.^ 

You  know,  of  course,  that  Swift  has  had  many  biog- 
raphers; his  Ufe  has  been  told  by  the  kindest  and  most 
good-natured  of  men,  Scott,  who  admires  but  can't 
bring  himself  to  love  him;  and  by  stout  old  Johnson,' 
who,  forced  to  admit  him  into  the  company  of  poets, 
receives  the  famous  Irishman,  and  takes  off  his  hat  to 
him  with  a  bow  of  surly  recognition,  scans  him  from 
head  to  foot,  and  passes  over  to  the  other  side  of  the 
street.    Dr.  Wilde  of  Dublin,^  who  has  written  a  most 

*  Sometimes,  during  his  mental  affliction,  he  continued  walking  about  the 
house  for  many  consecutive  hours;  sometimes  he  remained  in  a  kind  of  tor- 
por. At  times,'  he  would  seem  to  struggle  to  bring  into  distinct  consciousness, 
and  shape  into  expression,  the  intellect  that  lay  smothering  under  gloomy 
obstruction  in  him.  A  pier-glass  falling  by  accident,  nearly  fell  on  him.  He 
said  he  wished  it  had !  He  once  repeated  slowly  several  times,  "  I  am  what 
I  am."  The  last  thing  he  wrote  was  an  epigram  on  the  building  of  a  maga- 
zine for  arms  and  stores,  which  was  pointed  out  to  him  as  he  went  abroad 
during  his  mental  disease: — 

"  Behold  a  proof  of  Irish  sense: 
Here  Irish  wit  is  seen: 
When  nothing's  left  that's  worth  defence. 
They  build  a  magazine !  " 

^  Besides  these  famous  books  of  Scott's  and  Johnson's,  there  is  a  copious 
"Life"  by  Thomas  Sheridan  (Dr.  Johnson's  "Sherry"),  father  of  Richard 
Brinsley,  and  son  of  that  good-natured,  clever  Irish  Dr.  Thomas  Sheridan, 
Swift's  intimate,  who  lost  his  chaplaincy  by  so  unluckily  choosing  for  a  text 
on  the  King's  birthday,  "Sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof!"  Not  to 
mention  less  important  works,  there  is  also  the  "Remarks  on  the  Life  and 
Writings  of  Dr.  Jonathan  Swift,"  by  that  polite  and  dignified  writer,  the 
Earl  of  Orrery.  His  lordship  is  said  to  have  striven  for  literary  renown, 
chiefly  that  he  might  make  up  for  the  slight  passed  on  him  by  his  father,  who 
left  his  library  away  from  him.  It  is  to  be  feared  that  the  ink  he  used  to 
wash  out  that  stain  only  made  it  look  bigger.  He  had,  however,  known  Swift, 
and  corresponded  witii  people  who  knew  him.  His  work  (which  appeared  in 
1751)  provoked  a  good  deal  of  controversy,  calling  out,  among  other  bro- 
chures,  the  interesting  "  Observations  on  Lord  Orrery's  Remarks,"  &c.,  of  Dr. 
Delany. 

'  Dr.  Wilde's  book  was  written  on  the  occasion  of  the  remains  of  Swift 
and  Stella  being  brought  to  the  light  of  day— a  thing  which  happened  in 
1835,  when  certain  works  going  on  in  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral,  Dublin,  af- 
forded an  opportunity  of  their  being  examined.  One  hears  with  surprise  of 
these  skulls  "going  the  rounds"  of  houses,  and  being  made  the  objects  of 
dilettante  curiosity.  The  larynx  of  Swift  was  actually  carried  off!  Phren- 
ologists had  a  low"  opinion  of  "his  intellect  from  the  observations  they  took. 

Dr.  Wilde  traces  the  symptoms  of  ill  health  in  Swift,  as  detailed  in  his 
writings  from  time  to  time.    He  observes,  likewise,  that  the  skull  gave  evi- 


SWIFT  153 

interesting  volume  on  the  closing-  years  of  Swift's  life, 
calls  Johnson  "the  most  malignant  of  his  biographers:" 
it  is  not  easy  for  an  English  critic  to  please  Irishmen — 
perhaps  to  try  and  please  them.  And  yet  Johnson  truly 
admires  Swift:  Johnson  does  not  quarrel  with  Swift's 
change  of  politics,  or  doubt  his  sincerity  of  religion: 
about  the  famous  Stella  and  Vanessa  controversy  the 
Doctor  does  not  bear  very  hardly  on  Swift.  But  he 
could  not  give  the  Dean  that  honest  hand  of  his;  the 
stout  old  man  puts  it  into  his  breast,  and  moves  off  from 
him.^ 

Would  we  have  liked  to  live  with  him?  That  is  a 
question  which,  in  dealing  with  these  people's  works, 
and  thinking  of  their  lives  and  peculiarities,  every  reader 
of  biographies  must  put  to  himself.  Would  you  have 
liked  to  be  a  friend  of  the  great  Dean?  I  should  like  to 
have  been  Shakspeare's  shoeblack— just  to  have  lived 
in  his  house,  just  to  have  w^orshipped  him— to  have  run 
on  his  errands,  and  seen  that  sweet  serene  face.  I  should 
like,  as  a  young  man,  to  have  lived  on  Fielding's  stair- 
case in  the  Temple,  and  after  helping  him  up  to  bed 
perhaps,  and  opening  his  door  wdth  his  latch-key,  to 
have  shaken  hands  with  him  in  the  morning,  and  heard 
him  talk  and  crack  jokes  over  his  breakfast  and  his 
mug  of  small  beer.  Who  would  not  give  something 
to  pass  a  night  at  the  club  with  Johnson,  and  Gold- 
smith, and  James  Boswell,  Esq.,  of  Auchinleck?  The 
charm  of  Addison's  companionship  and  conversation 
has  passed  to  us  by  fond  tradition— but  Swift?  If  you 
had  been  his  inferior  in  parts   (and  that,  with  a  great 

dence  of  "  diseased  action  "  of  the  brain  during  life— such  as  would  be  pro- 
duced by  an  increasing  tendency  to  "  cerebral  congestion." 

i"He  [Dr.  Johnson]  seemed  to  me  to  have  an  unaccountable  prejudice 
against  Swift;  for  I  once  took  the  liberty  to  ask  him  if  Swift  had  personally 
offended  him,  and  he  told  me  he  had  not."— Boswzll's  Tour  to  the  Hebrides. 


154  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

respect  for  all  persons  present,  I  fear  is  only  very  likely) , 
his  equal  in  mere  social  station,  he  would  have  bullied, 
scorned,  and  insulted  you;  if,  undeterred  by  his  great 
reputation,  you  had  met  him  like  a  man,  he  would  have 
quailed  before  you,^  and  not  had  the  pluck  to  reply,  and 
gone  home,  and  years  after  written  a  foul  epigram 
about  you — watched  for  you  in  a  sewer,  and  come  out 
to  assail  you  with  a  coward's  blow  and  a  dirty  bludgeon. 
If  you  had  been  a  lord  with  a  blue  riband,  who  flattered 
his  vanity,  or  could  help  his  ambition,  he  would  have 
been  the  most  delightful  company  in  the  world.  He 
would  have  been  so  manly,  so  sarcastic,  so  bright,  odd, 
and  original,  that  you  might  think  he  had  no  object  in 
view  but  the  indulgence  of  his  humour,  and  that  he  was 
the  most  reckless,  simple  creature  in  the  world.  How 
he  would  have  torn  your  enemies  to  pieces  for  j^ou !  and 
made  fun  of  the  Opposition !  His  servility  was  so  bois- 
terous that  it  looked  like  independence ;  -  he  would  have 

^  Few  men,  to  be  sure,  dared  this  experiment,  but  yet  their  success  was  en- 
couraging. One  gentleman  made  a  point  of  asking  the  Dean  whether  his 
uncle  Godwin  had  not  given  him  his  education.  Swift,  who  hated  that  subject 
cordially,  and,  indeed,  cared  little  for  his  kindred,  said,  sternly,  "Yes;  he 
gave  me  the  education  of  a  dog."  "  Then,  sir,"  cried  the  other,  striking  his 
fist  on  the  table,  "  you  have  not  the  gratitude  of  a  dog !  " 

Other  occasions  there  were  when  a  bold  face  gave  the  Dean  pause,  even 
after  his  Irish  almost-royal  position  was  established.  But  he  brought  himself 
into  greater  danger  on  a  certain  occasion,  and  the  amusing  circumstances 
may  be  once  more  repeated  here.  He  had  unsparingly  lashed  the  notable 
Dublin  lawyer,  Mr.  Serjeant  Bettesworth— 

"  Thus  at  the  bar,  the  booby  Bettesworth, 

Though  half-a-crown  o'er-pays  his  sweat's  worth, 
Who  knows  in  law  nor  text  nor  margent. 
Calls  Singleton  his  brother-serjeant !  " 

The  Serjeant,  it  is  said,  swore  to  have  his  life.  He  presented  himself  at  the 
deanery.     The  Dean  asked  his  name.     "  Sir,  I  am  Serjeant  Bett-es-worth." 

"In  what  regiment,  pray?"  asked  Swift. 

A  guard  of  Volunteers  formed  themselves  to  defend  the  Dean  at  this  time. 

*"But,  my  Hamilton,  I  will  never  hide  the  freedom  of  my  sentiments 
from  you.  I  am  much  inclined  to  believe  that  the  temper  of  my  friend  Swift 
might  occasion  his  English  friends  to  wish  him  happily  and  properly  pro- 
moted at  a  distance.     His  spirit,  for  I  would  give  it  the  softest  name,  was 


SWIFT  155 

done  your  errands,  but  with  the  air  of  patronizing  you, 
and  after  fighting  your  battles,  masked,  in  the  street  or 
the  press,  would  have  kept  on  his  hat  before  your  wife 
and  daughters  in  the  drawing-room,  content  to  take  that 
sort  of  pay  for  his  tremendous  services  as  a  bravo.  ^ 

He  says  as  much  himself  in  one  of  his  letters  to 
Bohngbroke:— "All  my  endeavours  to  distinguish  my- 
self were  only  for  want  of  a  great  title  and  fortune, 
that  I  might  be  used  like  a  lord  by  those  who  have  an 
opinion  of  my  parts ;  whether  right  or  wrong  is  no  great 
matter.  And  so  the  reputation  of  wit  and  great  learn- 
ing does  the  office  of  a  blue  riband  or  a  coach  and  six."  ^ 

Could  there  be  a  greater  candour?  It  is  an  outlaw, 
who  says,  "These  are  my  brains;  with  these  I'll  win  titles 
and  compete  with  fortune.    These  are  my  bullets;  these 

ever  untractable.  The  motions  of  his  genius  were  often  irregular.  He  as- 
sumed more  the  air  of  a  patron  than  of  a  friend.  He  affected  rather  to  dic- 
tate than  advise."— Orrery. 

1  "  .  .  .  .  An  anecdote,  which,  though  only  told  by  Mrs.  Pilkington,  is 
well  attested,  bears,  that  the  last  time  he  was  in  London  he  went  to  dine  with 
the  Earl  of  Burlington,  who  was  but  newly  married.  The  Earl,  it  is  sup- 
posed, being  willing  to  have  a  little  diversion,  did  not  introduce  him  to  his 
lady  nor  mention  his  name.  After  dinner  said  the  Dean,  '  Lady  Burlington, 
I  hear  you  can  sing;  sing  me  a  song.'  The  lady  looked  on  this  unceremonious 
manner  of  asking  a  favour  with  distaste,  and  positively  refused.  He  said, 
'  She  should  sing,  or  he  would  make  her.  Why,  madam,  I  suppose  you  take 
me  for  one  of  your  poor  English  hedge-parsons;  sing  when  I  bid  you.'  As 
the  Earl  did  nothing  but  laugh  at  this  freedom,  the  lady  was  so  vexed  that 
she  burst  into  tears  and  retired.  His  first  compliment  to  her  when  he  saw 
her  again  was,  '  Pray,  madam,  are  you  as  proud  and  ill  natured  now  as  when 
I  saw  you  last  ? '  To  which  she  answered  with  great  good-humour,  '  No,  Mr. 
Dean;  I'll  sing  for  you  if  you  please.'  From  which  time  he  conceived  a  great 
esteem  for  her."— Scott's  Life.  " .  .  .  .  He  had  not  the  least  tincture 
of  vanity  in  his  conversation.  He  was,  perhaps,  as  he  said  himself,  too 
proud  to  be  vain.  When  he  was  polite,  it  was  in  a  manner  entirely  his  own. 
In  his  friendships  he  was  constant  and  undisguised.  He  was  the  same  in  his 
enmities." — Orrery. 

^ "  I  make  no  figure  but  at  court,  where  I  affect  to  turn  from  a  lord  to  the 
meanest  of  my  acquaintances."— Jottrnai  to  Stella. 

"  I  am  plagued  with  bad  authors,  verse  and  prose,  who  send  me  their  books 
and  poems,  the  vilest  I  ever  saw;  but  I  have  given  their  names  to  my  man, 
never  to  let  them  see  me."— Jowrnai  to  Stella. 

The  following  curious  paragraph  illustrates  the  life  of  a  courtier:— 

"  Did  I  ever  tell  you  that  the  Lord  Treasurer  hears  ill  with  the  left  ear, 
just  as  I  do?  .  .  .  .  I  dare  not  tell  him  that  I  am  so,  for  fear  he  should 
think  that  I  counterfeited  to  make  my  court !  "—Journal  to  Stella. 


156  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

I'll  turn  into  gold;"  and  he  hears  the  sound  of  coaches 
and  six,  takes  the  road  like  JNlacheath,  and  makes  society 
stand  and  deliver.  They  are  all  on  their  knees  before 
him.  Down  go  my  lord  bishop's  apron,  and  his  Grace's 
blue  riband,  and  ni}^  lady's  brocade  petticoat  in  the  mud. 
Pie  eases  the  one  of  a  living,  the  other  of  a  patent  place, 
the  third  of  a  little  snug  post  about  the  Court,  and  gives 
them  over  to  followers  of  his  own.  The  great  prize  has 
not  come  yet.  The  coach  with  the  mitre  and  crosier  in 
it,  which  he  intends  to  have  for  his  share,  has  been  de- 
layed on  the  way  from  St.  James's;  and  he  waits  and 
waits  until  nightfall,  when  his  runners  come  and  tell  him 
that  the  coach  has  taken  a  different  road,  and  escaped 
him.  So  he  fires  his  pistols  into  the  air  with  a  curse,  and 
rides  away  into  his  own  country.^ 

*  The  war  of  pamphlets  was  carried  on  fiercely  on  one  side  and  the  other : 
and  the  Whig  attaciis  made  the  Ministry  Swift  served  very  sore.  Boiingliroke 
laid  hold  of  several  of  the  Opposition  pamphleteers,  and  bewails  their  "  fac- 
titiousness  "  in  the  following  letter: — 

"  BOLINGBROKE    TO   THE    EaRL   OF    StEAFFORD. 

"  Whitehall,  July  93rd,  1713. 

"  It  is  a  melancholy  consideration  that  the  laws  of  our  country  are  too 
weak  to  punish  effectually  those  factitious  scribblers,  who  presume  to  blacken 
the  brightest  characters,  and  to  give  even  scurrilous  language  to  those  who 
are  in  the  first  degrees  of  honour.  This,  my  lord,  among  others,  is  a  symptom 
of  the  decayed  condition  of  our  Government,  and  serves  to  show  how  fatally 
we  mistake  licentiousness  for  liberty.  All  I  could  do  was  to  take  up  Hart, 
the  printer,  to  send  him  to  Newgate,  and  to  bind  him  over  upon  bail  to  be 
prosecuted;  this  I  have  done;  and  if  I  can  arrive  at  legal  proof  against  the 
author,  Ridpath,  he  shall  have  the  same  treatment." 

Swift  was  not  behind  his  illustrious  friend  in  this  virtuous  indignation.  In 
the  history  of  the  four  last  years  of  the  Queen,  the  Dean  speaks  in  the  most 
edifying  manner  of  the  licentiousness  of  the  press  and  the  abusive  language 
of  the  other  party:  — 

"  It  must  be  acknowledged  that  the  bad  practices  of  printers  have  been 

such  as  to  deserve  the  severest   animadversion   from  the  public 

The  adverse  party,  full  of  rage  and  leisure  since  their  fall,  and  unanimous 
in  their  cause,  eniploy  a  set  of  writers  by  subscription,  who  are  well  versed 
in  all  the  topics  of  defamation,  and  have  a  style  and  genius  levelled  to  the 

generality  of  tlicir  readers However,  the  mischiefs  of  the  press 

were  too"exorl)itant  to  be  cured  by  such  a  remedy  as  a  tax  upon  small  papers, 
and  a  bill  for  a  much  more  effectual  regulation  of  it  was  brought  into  the 
House  of  Commons,  but  so  late  in  the  session  that  there  was  no  time  to  pass 


SWIFT  157 

Swift's  seems  to  me  to  be  as  good  a  name  to  point 
a  moral  or  adorn  a  tale  of  ambition,  as  any  hero's  that 
ever  lived  and  failed.  But  we  must  remember  that  the 
morality  was  lax— that  other  gentlemen  besides  him- 
self took  the  road  in  his  day— that  pubhc  society  was 
in  a  strange  disordered  condition,  and  the  State  was 
ravaged  by  other  condottieri.  The  Boyne  was  being 
fought  and  won,  and  lost— the  bells  rung  in  WilHam's 
victory,  in  the  very  same  tone  with  which  they  would 
have  pealed  for  James's.  Men  were  loose  upon  pohtics, 
and  had  to  shift  for  themselves.  They,  as  well  as  old 
behefs  and  institutions,  had  lost  their  moorings  and  gone 

it,  for  there  always  appeared  an  unwillingness  to  cramp  overmuch  the  liberty 
of  the  press." 

But  to  a  clause  in  the  proposed  bill,  that  the  names  of  authors  should  be 
set  to  every  printed  book,  pamphlet  or  paper,  his  Reverence  objects  alto- 
gether; for,  savs  he,  "besides  the  objection  to  this  clause  from  the  practice 
of  pious  men,  vvho,  in  publishing  excellent  writings  for  the  service  of  religion, 
have  chosen,  o%it  of  an  humble  Christian  spirit,  to  conceal  their  names,  it  is 
certain  that  all  persons  of  true  genius  or  knowledge  have  an  invincible 
modesty  and  suspicion  of  themselves  upon  first  sending  their  thoughts  into 
the  world." 

This  "  invincible  modesty  "  was  no  doubt  the  sole  reason  which  induced  the 
Dean  to  keep  the  secret  of  the  "  Drapier's  Letters  "  and  a  hundred  humble 
Christian  works  of  which  he  was  the  author.  As  for  the  Opposition,  the 
Doctor  was  for  dealing  severely  with  them:  he  writes  to  Stella: 

Journal.     Letter  XIX. 

"  London,  March,  25th,  1710-11. 

"  .  .  .  .  We  have  let  Guiscard  be  buried  at  last,  after  showing  him 
pickled  in  a  trough  this  fortnight  for  twopence  a  piece;  and  the  fellow  that 
showed  would  point  to  his  body  and  say,  'See,  gentlemen,  this  is  the  wound 
that  was  given  him  by  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Ormond ; '  and,  '  This  is  the 
wound,'  &c.;  and  then"  the  show  was  over,  and  another  set  of  rabble  came  in. 
'Tis  hard  that  our  laws  would  not  suffer  us  to  hang  his  body  in  chains,  be- 
cause he  was  not  tried;  and  in  the  eye  of  the  law  every  man  is  innocent  till 

then " 

Journal.     Letter  XXVII. 

"London,  July  25th,  1711. 

"  I  was  this  afternoon  with  Mr.  Secretary  at  his  office,  and  helped  to  hinder 
a  man  of  his  pardon,  who  is  condemned  for  a  rape.  The  Under  Secretary 
was  willing  to  save  him;  but  I  told  the  Secretary  he  could  not  pardon  him 
without  a  favourable  report  from  the  Judge;  besides,  he  was  a  fiddler,  and 
consequently  a  rogue,  and  deserved  hanging  for  something  else,  and  so  he 
shall  saving." 


158  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

adrift  in  the  storm.  As  in  the  South  Sea  Bubble,  al- 
most everybody  gambled;  as  in  the  Railway  mania— not 
many  centuries  ago— almost  every  one  took  his  unlucky 
share:  a  man  of  that  time,  of  the  vast  talents  and  am- 
bition of  Swift,  could  scarce  do  otherwise  than  grasp 
at  his  prize,  and  make  his  spring  at  his  opportunity. 
His  bitterness,  his  scorn,  his  rage,  his  subsequent  misan- 
thropy, are  ascribed  by  some  panegyrists  to  a  deliberate 
conviction  of  mankind's  unworthiness,  and  a  desire  to 
amend  them  by  castigating.  His  youth  was  bitter,  as 
that  of  a  great  genius  bound  down  by  ignoble  ties,  and 
powerless  in  a  mean  dependence;  his  age  was  bitter,^ 
like  that  of  a  great  genius  that  had  fought  the  battle 
and  nearly  won  it,  and  lost  it,  and  thought  of  it  after- 
wards writhing  in  a  lonely  exile.  A  man  may  attribute 
to  the  gods,  if  he  hkes,  what  is  caused  by  his  own  fury, 
or  disappointment,  or  self-will.  What  public  man— 
what  statesman  projecting  a  cow;;- what  king  deter- 
mined on  an  invasion  of  his  neighbour— what  satirist 
meditating  an  onslaught  on  society  or  an  individual, 
can't  give  a  pretext  for  his  move?  There  was  a  French 
general  the  other  day  who  proposed  to  march  into  this 
country  and  put  it  to  sack  and  pillage,  in  revenge  for 
humanity  outraged  by  our  conduct  at  Copenhagen: 
there  is  always  some  excuse  for  men  of  the  aggressive 
turn.  They  are  of  their  nature  warlike,  predatory, 
eager  for  fight,  plunder,  dominion.^ 

As  fierce  a  beak  and  talon  as  ever  struck— as  strong 

*  It  was  his  constant  practice  to  keep  his  birthday  as  a  day  of  mourning. 

*"  These  devils  of  Grub  Street  rogues,  that  write  the  Flying  PoH  and 
Medley  in  one  paper,  will  not  be  quiet.  They  are  always  mauling  Lord 
Treasurer,  Lord  Bolingbroke,  and  me.  We  have  the  dog  under  prosecution, 
but  Bolingbroke  is  not  active  enough;  but  I  hojie  to  swinge  him.  He  is  a 
Scotch  rogue,  one  Kidpath.  They  get  out  upon  bail,  and  write  on.  We  take 
them  again,  and  get  fresh  b;ul;  so  it  goes  round."— Jour jia I  to  IStella. 


SWIFT  159 

a  wing  as  ever  beat,  belonged  to  Swift.  I  am  glad,  for 
one,  that  fate  wrested  the  prey  out  of  his  claws,  and 
cut  his  wings  and  chained  him.  One  can  gaze,  and  not 
without  awe  and  pity,  at  the  lonely  eagle  chained  behind 
the  bars. 

That  Swift  was  born  at  No.  7,  Hoey's  Court,  Dublin, 
on  the  30th  November,  1667,  is  a  certain  fact,  of  which 
nobody  will  deny  the  sister  island  the  honour  and  glory ; 
but,  it  seems  to  me,  he  was  no  more  an  Irishman  than  a 
man  born  of  English  parents  at  Calcutta  is  a  Hindoo.^ 
Goldsmith  was  an  Irishman,  and  always  an  Irishman: 
Steele  was  an  Irishman,  and  always  an  Irishman :  Swift's 
heart  was  English  and  in  England,  his  habits  English, 
his  logic  eminently  English;  his  statement  is  elaborately 
simple;  he  shuns  tropes  and  metaphors,  and  uses  his 
ideas  and  words  with  a  wise  thrift  and  economy,  as  he 

^  Swift  was  by  no  means  inclined  to  forget  such  considerations ;  and  his 
English  birth  makes  its  mark,  strikingly  enough,  every  now  and  then  in  his 
writings.    Thus  in  a  letter  to  Pope  (Scott's  Swift,  vol.  xix.  p.  97),  he  says: — 

"  We   have   had  your  volume   of   letters Some   of  those  who 

highly  value  you,  and  a  few  who  knew  you  personally,  are  grieved  to  find 
you  make  no  distinction  between  the  English  gentry  of  this  kingdom,  and 
the  savage  old  Irish  (who  are  only  the  vulgar,  and  some  gentlemen  who  live 
in  the  Irish  parts  of  the  kingdom) ;  but  the  English  colonies,  who  are  three 
parts  in  four,  are  much  more  civilized  than  many  counties  in  England,  and 
speak  better  English,  and  are  much  better  bred." 

And  again,  in  the  fourth  Drapier's  Letter,  we  have  the  following: — 

"  A  short  paper,  printed  at  Bristol,  and  reprinted  here,  reports  Mr.  Wood 
to  say  '  that  he  wonders  at  the  impudence  and  insolence  of  the  Irish  in  re- 
fusing his  coin.'  When,  by  the  way,  it  is  the  true  English  people  of  Ireland 
who  refuse  it,  although  we  take  it  for  granted  that  the  Irish  will  do  so  too 
whenever  they  are  asked." — Scott's  Swift,  vol.  vi.  p.  453. 

He  goes  further,  in  a  good-humoured  satirical  paper,  "  On  Barbarous  De- 
nominations in  Ireland,"  where  (after  abusing,  as  he  was  wont,  the  Scotch 
cadence,  as  well  as  expression,)  he  advances  to  the  "  Irish  brogue,"  and 
speaking  of  the  "censure"  which  it  brings  down,  says:— 

"  And  what  is  yet  worse,  it  is  too  well  known  that  the  bad  consequence  of 
this  opinion  affects  those  among  us  who  are  not  the  least  liable  to  such  re- 
proaches farther  than  the  misfortune  of  being  born  in  Ireland,  although  of 
English  parents,  and  whose  education  has  been  chiefly  in  that  kingdom."— 
Ibid.  vol.  vii.  p.  149. 

But,  indeed,  if  we  are  to  make  anything  of  Race  at  all,  we  must  call  that 
man  an  Englishman  whose  father  comes  from  an  old  Yorkshire  family,  and 
his  mother  from  an  old  Leicestershire  one ! 


160  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

used  his  money:  with  which  he  could  be  generous  and 
splendid  upon  great  occasions,  but  which  he  husbanded 
when  there  was  no  need  to  spend  it.  He  never  indulges 
in  needless  extravagance  of  rhetoric,  lavish  epithets, 
profuse  imagery.  He  lays  his  opinion  before  you  with 
a  grave  simplicity  and  a  perfect  neatness.^  Dreading 
ridicule  too,  as  a  man  of  his  humour — above  all  an 
Englishman  of  his  humour — certainly  would,  he  is 
afraid  to  use  the  poetical  power  which  he  really  pos- 
sessed; one  often  fancies  in  reading  him  that  he  dares 
not  be  eloquent  when  he  might;  that  he  does  not  speak 
above  his  voice,  as  it  were,  and  the  tone  of  society. 

Hiis  initiation  into  politics,  his  knowledge  of  business, 
his  knowledge  of  polite  life,  his  acquaintance  with  litera- 
ture even,  which  he  could  not  have  pursued  very  sedu- 
lously during  that  reckless  career  at  Dublin,  Swift  got 
under  the  roof  of  Sir  William  Temple.  He  was  fond 
of  telling  in  after  life  what  quantities  of  books  he  de- 
voured there,  and  how  King  William  taught  him  to  cut 
asparagus  in  the  Dutch  fashion.  It  was  at  Shene  and 
at  Moor  Park,  with  a  salary  of  twenty  pounds  and  a 
dinner  at  the  upper  servants'  table  that  this  great  and 
lonely  Swift  passed  a  ten  years'  apprenticeship— wore 
a  cassock  that  was  only  not  a  livery— bent  down  a  knee 

^  "The  style  of  his  conversation  was  very  much  of  a  piece  with  that  of  his 
writings,  concise  and  clear  and  strong.  Being  one  day  at  a  Sheriff's  feast, 
who  amongst  other  toasts  called  out  to  him,  '  Mr.  Dean,  The  Trade  of  Ire- 
land!' he  answered  quick:  'Sir,  I  drink  no  memories!'     .... 

"  Happening  to  be  in  company  with  a  petulant  young  man  who  prided 
himself  on  saying  pert  things  .  .  .  and  who  cried  out— 'You  must  know, 
Mr.  Dean,  that  I  set  up  for  a  wit?  '  '  Do  you  so?  '  says  the  Dean.  '  Take  my 
advice,  and  sit  down  again ! ' 

"  At  another  time,  being  in  companj'^,  where  a  lady  whisking  her  long  train 
[long  trains  were  then  in  fashion]  swept  down  a  fine  fiddle  and  broke  it; 
Swift  cried  out  — 

'Mantua  vae  miserae  nimium  vicina  Cremonae!'" 

—  Dr.  Dei.any:  Observations  upon  Lord  Orrery's  "Remarks,  4-0.  on  Swift." 
London,  1754. 


SWIFT  161 

as  proud  as  Lucifer's  to  supplicate  my  lady's  good 
graces,  or  run  on  his  honour's  errands/  It  was  here, 
as  he  was  writing  at  Temple's  table,  or  following  his 
patron's  walk,  that  he  saw  and  heard  the  men  who  had 
governed  the  great  world — measured  himself  with  them, 
looking  up  from  his  silent  corner,  gauged  their  brains, 
weighed  their  wits,  turned  them,  and  tried  them,  and 
marked  them.  Ah !  what  platitudes  he  must  have  heard ! 
what  feeble  jokes!  what  pompous  commonplaces!  what 
small  men  they  must  have  seemed  under  those  enormous 
periwigs,  to  the  swarthy,  uncouth,  silent  Irish  secretary. 
I  wonder  whether  it  ever  struck  Temple,  that  that  Irish- 
man was  his  master?  I  suppose  that  dismal  conviction 
did  not  present  itself  under  the  ambrosial  wig,  or 
Temple  could  never  have  lived  with  Swift.  Swift 
sickened,  rebelled,  left  the  service— ate  humble  pie  and 
came  back  again ;  and  so  for  ten  years  went  on,  gathering 
learning,  swallowing  scorn,  and  submitting  with  a 
stealthy  rage  to  his  fortune. 

Temple's  style  is  the  perfection  of  practised  and  easy 
good-breeding.  If  he  does  not  penetrate  very  deeply 
into  a  subject,  he  professes  a  very  gentlemanly  acquain- 
tance with  it;  if  he  makes  rather  a  parade  of  Latin,  it 
was  the  custom  of  his  day,  as  it  was  the  custom  for  a 
gentleman  to  envelope  his  head  in  a  periwig  and  his 
hands  in  lace  ruffles.  If  he  wears  buckles  and  square- 
toed  shoes,  he  steps  in  them  with  a  consummate  grace, 
and  you  never  hear  their  creak,  or  find  them  treading 
upon  any  lady's  train  or  any  rival's  heels  in  the  Court 
crowd.     When  that  grows  too  hot  or  too  agitated  for 

* "  Don't  you  remember  how  I  used  to  be  in  pain  when  Sir  William  Temple 
would  look  cold  and  out  of  humour  for  three  or  four  days,  and  I  used  to 
suspect  a  hundred  reasons?  I  have  plucked  up  my  spirits  since  then,  faith: 
he  spoiled  a  fine  gentleman."— JowrnaZ  to  Stella. 


162  ENGLISH  HUMOURISTS 

him,  he  politely  leaves  it.  He  retires  to  his  retreat  of 
Shene  or  Moor  Park ;  and  lets  the  King's  party  and  the 
Prince  of  Orange's  party  battle  it  out  among  them- 
selves. He  reveres  the  Sovereign  (and  no  man  perhaps 
ever  testified  to  his  loyalty  by  so  elegant  a  bow)  ;  he 
admires  the  Prince  of  Orange;  but  there  is  one  person 
whose  ease  and  comfort  he  loves  more  than  all  the  princes 
in  Christendom,  and  that  valuable  member  of  society  is 
himself  Gulielmus  Temple,  Baronettus.  One  sees  him 
in  his  retreat;  between  his  study-chair  and  his  tuHp- 
beds,^  chpping  his  apricots  and  pruning  his  essays,— 
the  statesman,  the  ambassador  no  more;  but  the  phil- 
osopher, the  Epicurean,  the  fine  gentleman  and  courtier 

' "  .  .  .  The  Epicureans  were  more  intelligible  in  their  notion,  and  for- 
tunate in  their  expression,  when  they  placed  a  man's  happiness  in  the  tran- 
quillity of  his  mind  and  indolence  of  body;  for  while  we  are  composed  of 
both,  I  doubt  both  must  have  a  share  in  the  good  or  ill  we  feel.  As  men  of 
several  languages  say  the  same  things  in  very  diflferent  words,  so  in  several 
ages,  countries,  constitutions  of  laws  and  religion,  the  same  thing  seems  to 
be  meant  by  very  different  expressions:  what  is  called  by  the  Stoics  apathy, 
or  dispassion;  by  the  sceptics,  indisturbance ;  by  the  Molinists,  quietism;  by 
common  men,  peace  of  conscience,— seems  all  to  mean  but  great  tranquillity 
of  mind.  .  .  .  For  this  reason  Epicurus  passed  his  life  wholly  in  his  garden; 
there  he  studied,  there  he  exercised,  there  he  taught  his  philosophy ;  and,  in- 
deed, no  other  sort  of  abode  seems  to  contribute  so  much  to  both  the  tran- 
quillity of  mind  and  indolence  of  body,  which  he  made  his  chief  ends.  The 
sweetness  of  the  air,  the  pleasantness  of  smell,  the  verdure  of  plants,  the 
cleanness  and  lightness  of  food,  the  exercise  of  working  or  walking;  but, 
above  all,  the  exemption  from  cares  and  solicitude,  seem  equally  to  favour 
and  improve  both  contemplation  and  health,  the  enjojTnent  of  sense  and 
imagination,  and  thereby  the  quiet  and  ease  both  of  the  body  and  mind.  .  .  . 
Where  Paradise  was,  has  been  much  debated,  and  little  agreed;  but  what 
sort  of  place  is  meant  by  it  may  perhaps  easier  be  conjectured.  It  seems  to 
have  been  a  Persian  word,  since  Xenophon  and  other  Greek  authors  mention 
it  as  what  was  much  in  use  and  delight  among  the  kings  of  those  eastern 
countries.  Strabo  describing  Jericho:  '  Ibi  est  palmetum,  cui  immixtae  sunt 
etiam  aliae  stirpes  hortenses,  locus  ferax  palmis  abundans,  spatio  stadionim 
centum,  totus  irriguus:  ibi  est  Regis  Balsami  paradisus.' "— ^s^ay  on  Gar- 
dens. 

In  the  same  famous  essay  Temple  speaks  of  a  friend,  whose  conduct  and 
prudence  he  characteristically  admires: 

"  ....  I  thought  it  very  prudent  in  a  gentleman  of  my  friends  in  Staf- 
fordshire, who  is  a  great  lover  of  his  garden,  to  pretend  no  higher,  though 
his  soil  be  good  enough,  than  to  the  perfection  of  plums;  and  in  these  (by 
bestowing  south  walls  upon  them)  he  has  very  well  succeeded,  which  he  could 
never  have  done  in  attempts  upon  peaches  and  grapes;  and  a  good  plum  w 
certainly  better  than  an  ill  peach." 


SWIFT  168 

at  St.  James's  as  at  Shene;  where  in  place  of  kings  and 
fair  ladies,  he  pays  his  court  to  the  Ciceronian  majesty; 
or  walks  a  minuet  with  the  Epic  Muse;  or  dallies  by  the 
south  wall  with  the  ruddy  nymph  of  gardens. 

Temple  seems  to  have  received  and  exacted  a  pro- 
digious deal  of  veneration  from  his  household,  and  to 
have  been  coaxed,  and  warmed,  and  cuddled  by  the  peo- 
ple round  about  him,  as  delicately  as  any  of  the  plants 
which  he  loved.  When  he  fell  ill  in  1693,  the  household 
was  aghast  at  his  indisposition :  mild  Dorothea  his  wife, 
the  best  companion  of  the  best  of  men— 

"  Mild  Dorothea,  peaceful,  wise,  and  great. 
Trembling  beheld  the  doubtful  hand  of  fate." 

As  for  Dorinda,  his  sister,— 

"  Those  who  would  grief  describe,  might  come  and  trace 
Its  watery  footsteps  in  Dorinda's  face. 
To  see  her  weep,  joy  every  face  forsook. 
And  grief  flung  sables  on  each  menial  look. 
The  humble  tribe  mourned  for  the  quickening  soul. 
That  furnished  spirit  and  motion  through  the  whole." 

Isn't  that  line  in  which  grief  is  described  as  putting 
the  menials  into  a  mourning  hvery,  a  fine  image?  One 
of  the  menials  wrote  it,  who  did  not  like  that  Temple 
livery  nor  those  twenty-pound  wages.  Cannot  one 
fancy  the  uncouth  young  servitor,  with  downcast  eyes, 
books  and  papers  in  hand,  following  at  his  honour's 
heels  in  the  garden  walk;  or  taking  his  honour's  orders 
as  he  stands  by  the  great  chair,  where  Sir  William  has 
the  gout,  and  his  feet  all  blistered  with  moxa?  When 
Sir  Wilham  has  the  gout  or  scolds  it  must  be  hard  work 


164  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

at  the  second  table*/  the  Irish  secretary  owned  as  much 
afterwards:  and  when  he  came  to  dinner,  how  he  must 
have  lashed  and  growled  and  torn  the  household  with  his 
gibes  and  scorn !  What  would  the  steward  say  about  the 
pride  of  them  Irish  schoUards — and  this  one  had  got  no 
great  credit  even  at  his  Irish  college,  if  the  truth  were 
known— and  what  a  contempt  his  Excellency's  own  gen- 
tleman must  have  had  for  Parson  Teague  from  Dublin. 
{ The  valets  and  chaplains  were  always  at  war.  It  is  hard 
to  say  which  Swift  thought  the  more  contemptible. )  And 
what  must  have  been  the  sadness,  the  sadness  and  terror, 
of  the  housekeeper's  little  daughter  with  the  curling 
black  ringlets  and  the  sweet  smiling  face,  when  the 
secretary  who  teaches  her  to  read  and  write,  and  whom 
she  loves  and  reverences  above  all  things— above  mother, 

'  Swift's  Thoughts  on   Hanging. 
{Directions  to  Servants.) 

"To  grow  old  in  the  office  of  a  footman  is  the  highest  of  all  indignities; 
therefore,  when  you  find  years  coming  on  without  hopes  of  a  place  at  court, 
a  command  in  the  army,  a  succession  to  the  stewardship,  an  employment  in 
the  revenue  (which  two  last  you  cannot  obtain  without  reading  and  writing), 
or  running  away  with  your  master's  niece  or  daughter,  I  directly  advise  you 
to  go  upon  the  road,  which  is  the  only  post  of  honour  left  you:  there  you 
will  meet  many  of  your  old  comrades,  and  live  a  short  life  and  a  merry  one, 
and  make  a  figure  at  your  exit,  wherein  I  will  give  you  some  instructions. 

"  The  last  advice  I  give  you  relates  to  your  behaviour  when  you  are  going 
to  be  hanged:  which,  either  for  robbing  your  master,  for  housebreaking,  or 
going  upon  the  highway,  or  in  a  drunken  quarrel  by  killing  the  first  man  you 
meet,  may  very  probably  be  your  lot,  and  is  owing  to  one  of  these  three 
qualities:  either  a  love  of  good-fellowship,  a  generosity  of  mind,  or  too  much 
vivacity  of  spirits.  Your  good  behaviour  on  this  article  will  concern  your 
whole  community:  deny  the  fact  with  all  solemnity  of  imprecations:  a  hun- 
dred of  your  brethren,  if  they  can  be  admitted,  will  attend  about  the  bar, 
and  be  ready  upon  demand  to  give  you  a  character  before  the  Court;  let 
nothing  prevail  on  you  to  confess,  but  the  promise  of  a  pardon  for  discover- 
ing your  comrades:  but  I  suppose  all  this  to  be  in  vain;  for  if  you  escape 
now,  your  fjite  will  be  the  same  another  day.  Get  a  speech  to  be  written  by 
the  best  author  of  Newgate:  some  of  your  kind  wenches  will  provide  yoii 
with  a  holland  shirt  and  white  cap,  crowned  with  a  crimson  or  black  ribbon: 
take  leave  cheerfully  of  all  your  friends  in  Newgate:  mount  the  cart  with 
courage;  fall  on  your  knees;  lift  up  your  eyes;  hold  a  book  in  your  hands,  al- 
though you  cannot  read  a  word;  deny  the  fact  at  the  gallows!  kiss  and  for- 
give the  hangman,  and  so  farewell;  you  shall  be  buried  in  pomp  at  the  charge 
of  the  fraternity:  the  surgeon  shall  not  touch  a  limb  of  you;  and  your  fame 
shall  continue  until  a  successor  of  equal  renown  succeeds  in  your  place.  .  .  ." 


SWIFT  165 

above  mild  Dorothea,  above  that  tremendous  Sir  Wil- 
liam in  his  square-toes  and  periwig,— when  Mr.  Swift 
comes  down  from  his  master  with  rage  in  his  heart,  and 
has  not  a  kind  word  even  for  little  Hester  Johnson? 

Perhaps,  for  the  Irish  secretary,  his  Excellency's  con- 
descension was  even  more  cruel  than  his  frowns.  Sir 
William  would  perpetually  quote  Latin  and' the  ancient 
classics  apropos  of  his  gardens  and  his  Dutch  statues 
and  plates-handes,  and  talk  about  Epicurus  and  Diog- 
enes Laertius,  Julius  Caesar,  Semiramis,  and  the 
gardens  of  the  Hesperides,  Maecenas,  Strabo  describing 
Jericho,  and  the  Assyrian  kings.  Apropos  of  beans, 
he  would  mention  Pythagoras's  precept  to  abstain  from 
beans,  and  that  this  precept  probably  meant  that  wise 
men  should  abstain  from  public  affairs.  He  is  a  placid 
Epicurean;  he  is  a  Pythagorean  philosopher;  he  is  a 
wise  man— that  is  the  deduction.  Does  not  Swift  think 
so?  One  can  imagine  the  downcast  eyes  lifted  up  for  a 
moment,  and  the  flash  of  scorn  which  they  emit.  Swift's 
eyes  were  as  azure  as  the  heavens;  Pope  says  nobly  (as 
everything  Pope  said  and  thought  of  his  friend  was 
good  and  noble) ,  "  His  eyes  are  as  azure  as  the  heavens, 
and  have  a  charming  archness  in  them."  And  one  per- 
son in  that  household,  that  pompous,  stately,  kindly 
Moor  Park,  saw  heaven  nowhere  else. 

But  the  Temple  amenities  and  solemnities  did  not 
agree  with  Swift.  He  was  half -killed  with  a  surfeit  of 
Shene  pippins;  and  in  a  garden-seat  which  he  devised 
for  himself  at  Moor  Park,  and  where  he  devoured 
greedily  the  stock  of  books  within  his  reach,  he  caught 
a  vertigo  and  deafness  which  punished  and  tormented 
him  through  life.  He  could  not  bear  the  place  or  the 
servitude.     Even  in  that  poem  of  courtly  condolence, 


166  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

from  which  we  have  quoted  a  few  lines  of  mock  melan- 
choly, he  breaks  out  of  the  funereal  procession  with  a 
mad  shriek,  as  it  were,  and  rushes  away  crying  his  own 
grief,  cursing  his  own  fate,  foreboding  madness,  and 
forsaken  by  fortune,  and  even  hope. 

I  don't  know  anything  more  melancholy  than  the 
letter  to  Temple,  in  which,  after  having  broke  from  his 
bondage,  the  poor  wretch  crouches  piteously  towards 
his  cage  again,  and  deprecates  his  master's  anger.  He 
asks  for  testimonials  for  orders.  "The  particulars  re- 
quired of  me  are  what  relate  to  morals  and  learning; 
and  the  reasons  of  quitting  your  honour's  family— that 
is,  whether  the  last  was  occasioned  by  any  ill  action. 
They  are  left  entirely  to  your  honour's  mercy,  though 
in  the  first  I  think  I  cannot  reproach  myself  for  any- 
thing further  than  for  infirmities.  This  is  all  I  dare 
at  present  beg  from  your  honour,  under  circumstances 
of  life  not  worth  your  regard:  what  is  left  me  to  wish 
(next  to  the  health  and  prosperity  of  your  honour  and 
family)  is  that  Heaven  would  one  day  allow  me  the 
opportunity  of  leaving  my  acknowledgments  at  your 
feet.  I  beg  my  most  humble  duty  and  service  be  pre- 
sented to  my  ladies,  your  honour's  lady  and  sister."— 
Can  prostration  fall  deeper?  could  a  slave  bow  lower ?^ 

* "  He  continued  in  Sir  William  Temple's  house  till  the  death  of  that 
great  man." —Anecdotes  of  the  Family  of  Swift,  by  the  Deak. 

"  It  has  since  pleased  God  to  take  this  great  and  good  person  to  himself." — 
Preface  to  Temple's  Works. 

On  all  public  occasions,  Swift  speaks  of  Sir  William  in  the  same  tone. 
But  the  reader  will  better  understand  how  acutely  he  remembered  the  in- 
dignities he  suflFered  in  his  household,  from  the  subjoined  extracts  from  the 
Journal  to  Stella:— 

"  I  called  at  Mr.  Secretary  the  other  day,  to  see  what  the  d ailed  liim 

on  Sunday:  I  made  him  a  very  proper  speech;  told  him  I  observed  he  was 
much  out  of  temper,  that  I  did  not  expect  he  would  tell  me  the  cause,  but 
would  be  glad  to  see  he  was  in  better;  and  one  thing  I  warned  him  of — 
never  to  appear  cold  to. me,  for  I  would  not  l)e  treated  like  a  schoolboy;  that 
I  had  felt  too  much  of  that  in  my  life  already"  {meaniny  Sir  William  Tem- 
ple),  &c.  SiC— Journal  to  Stella. 


SWIFT  167 

Twenty  years  afterwards  Bishop  Kennet,  describing 
the  same  man,  says,  "Dr.  Swift  came  into  the  coffee- 
house and  had  a  bow  from  everybody  but  me.  When  I 
came  to  the  antechamber  [at  Court]  to  wait  before 
prayers,  Dr.  Swift  was  the  principal  man  of  talk  and 
business.  He  was  soliciting  the  Earl  of  Arran  to  speak 
to  his  brother,  the  Duke  of  Ormond,  to  get  a  place  for  a 
clergyman.  He  was  promising  Mr.  Thorold  to  under- 
take, with  my  Lord  Treasurer,  that  he  should  obtain 
a  salary  of  200Z.  per  annum  as  member  of  the  English 
Church  at  Rotterdam.  He  stopped  F.  Gwynne,  Esq., 
going  into  the  Queen  with  the  red  bag,  and  told  him 
aloud,  he  had  something  to  say  to  him  from  my  Lord 
Treasurer.  He  took  out  his  gold  watch,  and  telling  the 
time  of  day,  complained  that  it  was  very  late.  A  gen- 
tleman said  he  was  too  fast.  'How  can  I  help  it,'  says 
the  Doctor,  'if  the  courtiers  give  me  a  watch  that  won't 
go  right?'  Then  he  instructed  a  young  nobleman,  that 
the  best  poet  in  England  was  Mr.  Pope  (a  Papist) ,  who 
had  begun  a  translation  of  Homer  into  English,  for 
which  he  would  have  them  all  subscribe:  'For,'  says  he, 
'he  shall  not  begin  to  print  till  I  have  a  thousand  guineas 
for  him.'^     Lord  Treasurer,  after  leaving  the  Queen, 

"  I  am  thinking  what  a  veneration  we  used  to  have  for  Sir  William  Temple 
because  he  might  have  been  Secretary  of  State  at  fifty;  and  here  is  a  young 
fellow  hardly  thirty  in  that  employment."— /6id. 

"The  Secretary  is  as  easy  with  me  as  Mr.  Addison  was.  I  have  often 
thought  what  a  splutter  Sir  William  Temple  makes  about  being  Secretary  of 
State."— 76id. 

"  Lord  Treasurer  has  had  an  ugly  fit  of  the  rheumatism,  but  is  now  quite 
well.  I  was  playing  at  one-and-thirty  with  him  and  his  family  the  other 
night.  He  gave  us  all  twelvepence  apiece  to  begin  with;  it  put  me  in  mind 
of  Sir  William  Temple."— 76ic/. 

"  I  thought  I  saw  Jack  Temple  [nephew  to  Sir  William]  and  his  wife  pass 
by  me  to-day  in  their  coach ;  but  I  took  no  notice  of  them.  I  am  glad  I  have 
wholly  shaken  oflF  that  family."— -S.  to  S.  Sept.  1710. 

'  "  Swift  must  be  allowed,"  says  Dr.  Johnson,  "  for  a  time,  to  have  dictated 
the  political  opinions  of  the  English  nation." 

A  conversation  on  the  Dean's  pamphlets  excited  one  of  the  Doctor's  live- 


168  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

came  through  the  room,  beckoning  Dr.  Swift  to  follow 
him,— both  went  off  just  before  prayers."  There's  a 
little  malice  in  the  Bishop's  "just  before  prayers." 

This  picture  of  the  great  Dean  seems  a  true  one,  and 
is  harsh,  though  not  altogether  unpleasant.  He  was 
doing  good,  and  to  deserving  men  too,  in  the  midst  of 
these  intrigues  and  triumphs.  His  journals  and  a 
thousand  anecdotes  of  him  relate  his  kind  acts  and  rough 
manners.  His  hand  was  constantly  stretched  out  to 
relieve  an  honest  man— he  was  cautious  about  his  money, 
but  ready.— If  you  were  in  a  strait  would  you  like  such 
a  benefactor  ?  I  think  I  would  rather  have  had  a  potato 
and  a  friendly  word  from  Goldsmith  than  have  been 
beholden  to  the  Dean  for  a  guinea  and  a  dinner.^  He 
insulted  a  man  as  he  served  him,  made  women  cry,  guests 
look  foolish,  bullied  unlucky  friends,  and  flung  his  bene- 
factions into  poor  men's  faces.  No;  the  Dean  was  no 
Irishman— no  Irishman  ever  gave  but  with  a  kind  word 
and  a  kind  heart. 

It  is  told,  as  if  it  were  to  Swift's  credit,  that  the  Dean 

liest  sallies.  "  One,  in  particular,  praised  his  '  Conduct  of  the  Allies.' — 
Johnson:  'Sir,  his  'Conduct  of  the  Allies'  is  a  performance  of  very  little 
ability.  .  .  .  Why,  sir,  Tom  Davies  might  have  written  the  '  Conduct  of  the 
Allies! '  "— Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson. 

'  "  Whenever  he  fell  into  the  company  of  any  person  for  the  first  time,  it 
was  his  custom  to  try  their  tempers  and  disposition  by  some  abrupt  question 
that  bore  the  appearance  of  rudeness.  If  this  were  well  taken,  and  answered 
with  good  humour,  he  afterwards  made  amends  by  his  civilities.  But  if  he 
saw  any  marks  of  resentment,  from  alarmed  pride,  vanity,  or  conceit,  he 
dropped  all  further  intercourse  with  the  party.  This  will  be  illustrated  by 
an  anecdote  of  that  sort  related  by  Mrs.  Pilkington.  After  supper,  the  Dean 
having  decanted  a  bottle  of  wine,  poured  what  remained  into  a  glass,  and 
seeing  it  was  muddy,  presented  it  to  Mr.  Pilkington  to  drink  it.  '  For,'  said 
he,  '  I  always  keep  some  poor  parson  to  drink  the  foul  wine  for  me.'  Mr. 
Pilkington,  entering  into  his  humour,  thanked  him,  and  told  iiim  '  he  did  not 
know  the  difference,  but  was  glad  to  get  a  glass  at  any  rate.'     '  Why,  then,' 

said  the  Dean,  'you  shan't,  for  I'll  drink  it  myself.    Why, take  you,  you 

are  wiser  than  a  paltry  curate  whom  I  asked  to  dine  with  me  a  few  days  ago; 
for  upon  my  making  the  same  speech  to  him,  he  said  he  did  not  understand 
such  usage,  and  so  walked  off  witliout  his  dinner.  By  tlie  same  token,  I  told 
the  gentleman  who  recommended  him  to  me  tliat  the  fellow  was  a  blockhead, 
and  1  had  done  with  him.'  "— Sheiudan's  Life  of  Sivift. 


SWIFT  169 

of  St.  Patrick's  performed  his  family  devotions  every 
morning-  regularly,  but  with  such  secrecy  that  the  guests 
in  his  house  were  never  in  the  least  aware  of  the  ceremony. 
There  was  no  need  surely  why  a  church  dignitary  should 
assemble  his  family  privily  in  a  crypt,  and  as  if  he  was 
afraid  of  heathen  persecution.  But  I  think  the  world 
was  right,  and  the  bishops  who  advised  Queen  Anne, 
when  they  counselled  her  not  to  appoint  the  author  of 
the  "Tale  of  a  Tub"  to  a  bishopric,  gave  perfectly  good 
advice.  The  man  who  wrote  the  arguments  and  illus- 
trations in  that  wild  book,  could  not  but  be  aware  what 
must  be  the  sequel  of  the  propositions  which  he  laid 
down.  The  boon  companion  of  Pope  and  Bolingbroke, 
who  chose  these  as  the  friends  of  his  life,  and  the  re- 
cipients of  his  confidence  and  affection,  must  have  heard 
many  an  argument,  and  joined  in  many  a  conversation 
over  Pope's  port,  or  St.  John's  burgundy,  which  would 
not  bear  to  be  repeated  at  other  men's  boards. 

I  know  of  few  things  more  conclusive  as  to  the  sin- 
cerity of  Swift's  religion  than  his  advice  to  poor  John 
Gay  to  turn  clergyman,  and  look  out  for  a  seat  on  the 
Bench.  Gay,  the  author  of  the  "Beggar's  Opera"— 
Gay,  the  wildest  of  the  wits  about  town— it  was  this 
man  that  Jonathan  Swift  advised  to  take  orders— to 
invest  in  a  cassock  and  bands— just  as  he  advised  him  to 
husband  his  shillings  and  put  his  thousand  pounds  out  at 
interest.^  The  Queen,  and  the  bishops,  and  the  world, 
were  right  in  mistrusting  the  religion  of  that  man. 

^  "  From  the  Archbishop  of  Cashell. 
"Dear  Sir,—  "Cashell,  May  31st,  1735. 

"  I  HAVE  been  so  unfortunate  in  all  my  contests  of  late,  that  I  am  re- 
solved to  have  no  more,  especially  where  I  am  likely  to  be  overmatched ;  and 
as  I  have  some  reason  to  hope  what  is  past  will  be  forgotten,  I  confess  I  did 
endeavour  in  my  last  to  put  the  best  colour  I  could  think  of  upon  a  very  bad 
cause.    My  friends  judge  right  of  my  idleness;  but,  in  reality,  it  has  hitherto 


170  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

I  am  not  here,  of  course,  to  speak  of  any  man's  re- 
ligious views,  except  in  so  far  as  they  influence  his  liter- 
ary character,  his  life,  his  humour.  The  most  notorious 
sinners  of  all  those  fellow-mortals  whom  it  is  our  busi- 
ness to  discuss — Harry  Fielding  and  Dick  Steele, 
were  especially  loud,  and  I  believe  really  fervent,  in  their 
expressions  of  belief;  they  belaboured  freethinkers,  and 
stoned  imaginary  atheists  on  all  sorts  of  occasions,  going- 
out  of  their  way  to  bawl  their  own  creed,  and  persecute 
their  neighbour's,  and  if  they  sinned  and  stumbled,  as 
they  constantly  did  with  debt,  with  drink,  with  all  sorts 

proceeded  from  a  hurry  and  confusion,  arising  from  a  thousand  unlucky  un- 
foreseen accidents  rather  than  mere  sloth.  I  have  but  one  troublesome  affair 
now  upon  my  hands,  which,  by  the  help  of  the  prime  Serjeant,  I  hope  soon  to 
get  rid  of;  and  then  you  shall  see  me  a  true  Irish  bishop.  Sir  James  Ware 
has  made  a  very  useful  collection  of  the  memorable  actions  of  my  predeces- 
sors. He  tells  me,  they  were  born  in  such  a  town  of  England  or  Ireland; 
were  consecrated  such  a  year;  and  if  not  translated,  were  buried  in  the 
Cathedral  church,  either  on  the  north  or  south  side.  Whence  I  conclude,  that 
a  good  bishop  has  nothing  more  to  do  than  to  eat,  drink,  grow  fat,  rich,  and 
die;  which  laudable  example  I  propose  for  the  remainder  of  my  life  to  fol- 
low; for  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have  for  these  four  or  five  years  past  met 
with  so  much  treachery,  baseness,  and  ingratitude  among  mankind,  that  I 
can  hardly  think  it  incumbent  on  any  man  to  endeavour  to  do  good  to  so  per- 
verse a  generation. 

"I  am  truly  concerned  at  the  account  j^ou  give  me  of  your  iiealth.  With- 
out doubt  a  southern  ramble  will  prove  the  best  remedy  you  can  take  to  re- 
cover your  flesh;  and  I  do  not  know,  except  in  one  stage,  where  you  can 
choose  a  road  so  suited  to  your  circumstances,  as  from  Dublin  hither.  You 
have  to  Kilkenny  a  turnpike  and  good  inns,  at  every  ten  or  twelve  miles'  end. 
From  Kilkenny  hither  is  twenty  long  miles,  bad  road,  and  no  inns  at  all:  but 
I  have  an  expedient  for  you.  At  the  foot  of  a  very  high  hill,  just  midwaj^ 
there  lives  in  a  neat  thatched  cabin,  a  parson,  who  is  not  poor;  his  wife  is 
allowed  to  be  the  best  little  woman  in  the  world.  Her  chickens  are  the  fat- 
test, and  her  ale  the  best  in  all  the  country.  Besides,  the  parson  has  a  little 
cellar  of  his  own,  of  which  he  keeps  the  key,  where  he  always  has  a  hogshead 
of  the  best  wine  that  can  be  got,  in  bottles  well  corked,  upon  their  side;  and 
he  cleans,  and  pulls  out  the  cork  better,  I  think,  than  Robin.  Here  I  design 
to  meet  you  with  a  coach;  if  you  be  tired,  you  shall  stay  all  night;  if  not, 
after  dinner,  we  will  set  out  about  four,  and  l)e  at  Casheil  by  nine;  and  by 
going  through  fields  and  by-ways,  which  the  parson  will  show  us,  we  shall 
escape  all  the  rocky  and  stony  roads  that  lie  I)etween  this  place  and  that, 
which  are  certainly  very  bad.  I  hope  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  let  me  know  a 
post  or  two  before  you  set  out,  the  very  day  you  will  l)e  at  Kilkenny,  that  I 
may  have  all  things  prepared  for  you.  It  may  be,  if  you  ask  him.  Cope  will 
come:  he  will  do  nothing  for  me.  Therefore,  depending  upon  your  positive 
promise,  I  shiill  add  no  more  arguments  to  persuade  you,  and  am,  with  the 
greatest  truth,  your  most  faitliful  and  obedient  servant, 

"TiiEO.  Cashell." 


SWIFT  171 

of  bad  behaviour,  they  got  upon  their  knees  and  cried 
"  Peccavi "  with  a  most  sonorous  orthodoxy.  Yes;  poor 
Harry  Fielding  and  poor  Dick  Steele  were  trusty  and 
undoubting  Church  of  England  men;  they  abhorred 
Popery,  Atheism,  and  wooden  shoes,  and  idolatries  in 
general ;  and  hiccupped  Church  and  State  with  fervour. 

But  Swift?  His  mind  had  had  a  different  schooling, 
and  possessed  a  very  different  logical  power.  He  was 
not  bred  up  in  a  tipsy  guard-room,  and  did  not  learn  to 
reason  in  a  Covent  Garden  tavern.  He  could  conduct 
an  argument  from  beginning  to  end.  He  could  see 
forward  with  a  fatal  clearness.  In  his  old  age,  looking 
at  the  "  Tale  of  a  Tub,"  when  he  said,  "  Good  God,  what 
a  genius  I  had  when  I  wrote  that  book! "  I  think  he  was 
admiring  not  the  genius,  but  the  consequences  to  which 
the  genius  had  brought  him — a  vast  genius,  a  magnifi- 
cent genius,  a  genius  wonderfully  bright,  and  dazzling, 
and  strong, — to  seize,  to  know,  to  see,  to  flash  upon 
falsehood  and  scorch  it  into  perdition,  to  penetrate  into 
the  hidden  motives,  and  expose  the  black  thoughts  of 
men, — an  awful,  an  evil  spirit. 

Ah  man!  you,  educated  in  Epicurean  Temple's  li- 
brary, you  whose  friends  were  Pope  and  St.  John — what 
made  you  to  swear  to  fatal  vows,  and  bind  yourself  to  a 
life-long  hypocrisy  before  the  Heaven  which  you  adored 
with  such  real  wonder,  humility,  and  reverence?  For 
Swift  was  a  reverent,  was  a  pious  spirit — for  Swift 
could  love  and  could  pray.  Through  the  storms  and 
tempests  of  his  furious  mind,  the  stars  of  religion  and 
love  break  out  in  the  blue,  shining  serenely,  though  hid- 
den by  the  driving  clouds  and  the  maddened  hurricane 
of  his  life. 

It  is  my  belief  that  he  suffered  frightfully  from  the 


172  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

consciousness  of  his  own  scepticism,  and  that  he  had 
bent  his  pride  so  far  down  as  to  put  his  apostasy  out  to 
hire.^  The  paper  left  behind  him,  called  "  Thoughts  on 
Religion,"  is  merely  a  set  of  excuses  for  not  professing 
disbelief.  He  says  of  his  sermons  that  he  preached 
pamphlets:  they  have  scarce  a  Christian  characteristic; 
they  might  be  preached  from  the  steps  of  a  synagogue, 
or  the  floor  of  a  mosque,  or  the  box  of  a  coffee-house 
almost.  There  is  little  or  no  cant — he  is  too  great  and 
too  proud  for  that;  and,  in  so  far  as  the  badness  of  his 
sermons  goes,  he  is  honest.  But  having  put  that  cas- 
sock on,  it  poisoned  him:  he  was  strangled  in  his  bands. 
He  goes  through  life,  tearing,  like  a  man  possessed 
with  a  devil.  Like  Abudah  in  the  Arabian  story,  he 
is  always  looking  out  for  the  Fury,  and  knows  that  the 
night  will  come  and  the  inevitable  hag  with  it.  What  a 
night,  my  God,  it  was!  what  a  lonely  rage  and  long 
agony— what  a  vulture  that  tore  the  heart  of  that 
giant !  ^  It  is  awful  to  think  of  the  great  sufl'erings  of 
this  great  man.  Through  life  he  always  seems  alone, 
somehow.  Goethe  was  so.  I  can't  fancy  Shakspeare 
otherwise.  The  giants  must  live  apart.  The  kings  can 
have  no  company.  But  this  man  suffered  so;  and  de- 
served so  to  suffer.  One  hardly  reads  anywhere  of 
such  a  pain. 

The  "  sseva  indignatio  "  of  which  he  spoke  as  lacerat- 
ing his  heart,  and  which  he  dares  to  inscribe  on  his  tomb- 

*"Mr.  Swift  lived  with  him  [Sir  William  Temple]  some  time,  but  resoh'ing 
to  settle  himself  in  some  way  of  living,  was  inclined  to  take  orders.  How- 
ever, although  his  fortune  was  very  small,  he  had  a  scruple  of  entering  into 
the  Church  merely  for  support." — Anecdotes  of  the  Family  of  Swift,  by  the 
Dean. 

^ "  Dr.  Swift  had  a  natural  severity  of  face,  which  even  his  smiles  could 
scarce  soften,  or  his  utmost  gaiety  render  placid  and  serene;  but  when  that 
sternness  of  visage  was  increased  by  rage,  it  is  scarce  possible  to  imagine 
looks  or  features  that  carried  in  them  more  terror  and  austerity."— Orreev. 


SWIFT  173 

stone— as  if  the  wretch  who  lay  under  that  stone  waiting 
God's  judgment  had  a  right  to  be  angry — breaks  out 
from  him  in  a  thousand  pages  of  his  writing,  and  tears 
and  rends  him.  Against  men  in  office,  he  having  been 
overthrown;  against  men  in  England,  he  having  lost 
his  chance  of  preferment  there,  the  furious  exile  never 
fails  to  rage  and  curse.  Is  it  fair  to  call  the  famous 
"Drapier's  Letters"  patriotism?  They  are  master- 
pieces of  dreadful  humour  and  invective:  they  are 
reasoned  logically  enough  too,  but  the  proposition  is 
as  monstrous  and  fabulous  as  the  Lilliputian  island.  It 
is  not  that  the  grievance  is  so  great,  but  there  is  his 
enemy — the  assault  is  wonderful  for  its  activity  and  ter- 
rible rage.  It  is  Samson,  with  a  bone  in  his  hand,  rush- 
ing on  his  enemies  and  felling  them :  one  admires  not  the 
cause  so  much  as  the  strength,  the  anger,  the  fury  of  the 
champion.  As  is  the  case  with  madmen,  certain  subjects 
provoke  him,  and  awaken  his  fits  of  wrath.  Marriage 
is  one  of  these;  in  a  hundred  passages  in  his  writings 
he  rages  against  it;  rages  against  children;  an  object  of 
constant  satire,  even  more  contemptible  in  his  eyes  than 
a  lord's  chaplain,  is  a  poor  curate  with  a  large  family. 
The  idea  of  this  luckless  paternity  never  fails  to  bring 
down  from  him  gibes  and  foul  language.  Could  Dick 
Steele,  or  Goldsmith,  or  Fielding,  in  his  most  reckless 
moment  of  satire,  have  written  anything  like  the  Dean's 
famous  "modest  proposal"  for  eating  children?  Not 
one  of  these  but  melts  at  the  thoughts  of  childhood, 
fondles  and  caresses  it.  Mr.  Dean  has  no  such  softness, 
and  enters  the  nursery  with  the  tread  and  gaiety  of  an 
ogre.^    "  I  have  been  assured,"  says  he  in  the  "  Modest 

^"London,  April  lOth,  1713. 
"Lady  Masham's  eldest  boy  is  very  ill:  I  doubt  he  will  not  live;  and  she 
stays  at  Kensington  to  nurse  him,  which  vexes  us  all.    She  is  so  excessively 


174  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

Proposal,"  "by  a  very  knowing  American  of  my  ac- 
quaintance in  London,  that  a  young  healthy  child,  well 
nursed,  is,  at  a  year  old,  a  most  delicious,  nourishing, 
and  wholesome  food,  whether  stewed,  roasted,  baked,  or 
boiled;  and  I  make  no  doubt  it  will  equally  serve  in  a 
ragout."  And  taking  up  this  pretty  joke,  as  his  way 
is,  he  argues  it  with  perfect  gravity  and  logic.  He  turns 
and  twists  this  subject  in  a  score  of  different  ways:  he 
hashes  it ;  and  he  serves  it  up  cold ;  and  he  garnishes  it ; 
and  relishes  it  always.  He  describes  the  little  animal 
as  "  dropped  from  its  dam,"  advising  that  the  mother 
should  let  it  suck  plentifully  in  the  last  month,  so  as  to 
render  it  plump  and  fat  for  a  good  table!  "A  child," 
says  his  Reverence,  "  will  make  two  dishes  at  an  enter- 
tainment for  friends;  and  when  the  family  dines  alone, 
the  fore  or  hind  quarter  will  make  a  reasonable  dish," 
and  so  on;  and,  the  subject  being  so  delightful  that  he 
can't  leave  it,  he  proceeds  to  recommend,  in  place  of 
venison  for  squires'  tables,  "the  bodies  of  young  lads 
and  maidens  not  exceeding  fourteen  or  under  twelve." 
Amiable  humourist!  laughing  castigator  of  morals! 
There  was  a  process  well  known  and  practised  in  the 
Dean's  gay  days:  when  a  lout  entered  the  coffee-house, 
the  wags  proceeded  to  what  they  called  "  roasting  "  him. 
This  is  roasting  a  subject  with  a  vengeance.  The  Dean 
had  a  native  genius  for  it.  As  the  "Almanach  des 
Gourmands  "  says.  On  nait  rotisseur. 

And  it  was  not  merely  by  the  sarcastic  method  that 
Swift  exposed  the  unreasonableness  of  loving  and  hav- 
ing children.  In  Gulliver,  the  folly  of  love  and  mar- 
riage is  urged  by  graver  arguments  and  advice.     In 

fond,  it  makes  me  mad.  She  should  never  leave  the  Queen,  but  leave  every- 
thing, to  stick  to  what  is  so  much  the  interest  of  the  public,  as  well  as  her 
own "—Journal. 


SWIFT  175 

the  famous  Lilliputian  kingdom,  Swift  speaks  with 
approval  of  the  practice  of  instantly  removing  children 
from  their  parents  and  educating  them  by  the  State; 
and  amongst  his  favourite  horses,  a  pair  of  foals  are 
stated  to  be  the  very  utmost  a  well-regulated  equine 
couple  would  permit  themselves.  In  fact,  our  great 
satirist  was  of  opinion  that  conjugal  love  was  unadvi- 
sable,  and  illustrated  the  theory  by  his  own  practice  and 
example— God  help  him— which  made  him  about  the 
most  wretched  being  in  God's  world. ^ 

The  grave  and  logical  conduct  of  an  absurd  proposi- 
tion, as  exemplified  in  the  cannibal  proposal  just 
mentioned,  is  our  author's  constant  method  through  all 
his  works  of  humour.  Given  a  country  of  people  six 
inches  or  sixty  feet  high,  and  by  the  mere  process  of 
the  logic,  a  thousand  wonderful  absurdities  are  evolved, 
at  so  many  stages  of  the  calculation.  Turning  to  the 
first  minister  w^ho  waited  behind  him  with  a  white  staff 
near  as  tall  as  the  mainmast  of  the  "  Royal  Sovereign," 
the  King  of  Brobdingnag  observes  how  contemptible  a 
thing  human  grandeur  is,  as  represented  by  such  a  con- 
temptible little  creature  as  Gulliver.  "  The  Emperor 
of  Lilliput's  features  are  strong  and  masculine"  (what 
a  surprising  humour  there  is  in  this  description!)  — "  The 
Emperor's  features,"  Gulliver  says,  "are  strong  and 
masculine,  with  an  Austrian  lip,  an  arched  nose,  his 
complexion  olive,  his  countenance  erect,  his  body  and 
limbs  well  proportioned,  and  his  deportment  majestic. 
He  is  taller  hy  the  breadth  of  my  nail  than  any  of  his 
court,  which  alone  is  enough  to  strike  an  awe  into  be- 
holders." 

^ "  My  health  is  somewhat  mended,  but  at  best  I  have  an  ill  head 
and  an  aching  heart."— /n  May,  1719. 


176  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

What  a  surjjrising  humour  there  is  in  these  descrip- 
tions! How  noble  the  satire  is  here!  how  just  and  hon- 
est! How  perfect  the  image!  Mr.  Macaulaj^  has 
quoted  the  charming  lines  of  the  poet,  where  the  king 
of  the  pigmies  is  measured  by  the  same  standard.  We 
have  all  read  in  Milton  of  the  spear  that  was  like  "  the 
mast  of  some  tall  admiral,"  but  these  images  are  surely 
likely  to  come  to  the  comic  poet  originally.  The  sub- 
ject is  before  him.  He  is  turning  it  in  a  thousand  ways. 
He  is  full  of  it.  The  figure  suggests  itself  naturally  to 
him,  and  comes  out  of  his  subject,  as  in  that  wonderful 
passage,  when  Gulliver's  box  having  been  dropped  by 
the  eagle  into  the  sea,  and  Gulliver  having  been  received 
into  the  ship's  cabin,  he  calls  upon  the  crew  to  bring  the 
box  into  the  cabin,  and  put  it  on  the  table,  the  cabin 
being  only  a  quarter  the  size  of  the  box.  It  is  the 
veracity  of  the  blunder  which  is  so  admirable.  Had  a 
man  come  from  such  a  country  as  Brobdingnag  he 
would  have  blundered  so. 

But  the  best  stroke  of  humour,  if  there  be  a  best  in 
that  abounding  book,  is  that  where  Gulliver,  in  the  un- 
pronounceable country,  describes  his  parting  from  his 
master  the  horse.^     "  I  took,"  he  says,  "  a  second  leave 

^Perhaps  the  most  melancholy  satire  in  the  whole  of  the  dreadful  book,  is 
the  description  of  the  very  old  people  in  the  "  Voyage  to  Laputa."  At  Lug- 
nag,  Gulliver  hears  of  some  ])ersons  who  never  die,  called  tiie  Struldbrugs, 
and  expressing  a  wish  to  become  acquainted  with  men  who  must  have  so 
much  learning  and  experience,  his  colloquist  describes  the  Struldbrugs  to 
hhn. 

"He  said:  They  commonly  acted  like  mortals,  till  about  thirty  years  old, 
after  which,  by  degrees,  they  grew  melancholy  and  dejected,  increasing  in 
both  till  they  came  to  fourscore.  This  he  learned  from  their  own  confession: 
for  otherwise  there  not  being  above  two  or  tlirce  of  that  species  born  in  an 
age,  tliey  were  too  few  to  form  a  general  ol)servation  by.  When  they  came 
to  fourscore  years,  which  is  reckoned  the  extremity  of  living  in  this  country, 
tiiey  had  not  only  all  the  follies  and  infirmities  of  other  old  men,  l>ut  many 
more,  which  arose  from  the  dreadful  prospect  of  never  dying.  Tlicy  were 
not  only  opinionative,  peevish,  covetous,  morose,  vain,  talkative,  l)ut  incapable 
of  friendship,  and  dead  to  all  natural  affection,  which  never  descended  lielow 
tlieir  gniMdciiildren.     l^nvy  and  impotent  desires  are  their  prevailing  pas- 


SWIFT  177 

of  my  master,  but  as  I  was  going  to  prostrate  myself 
to  kiss  his  hoof,  he  did  me  the  honour  to  raise  it  gently 

sions.  But  those  objects  against  which  their  envy  seems  principally  directed, 
are  the  vices  of  the  younger  sort  and  the  deaths  of  the  old.  By  reflecting  on 
the  former,  they  find  themselves  cut  off  from  all  possibility  of  pleasure;  and 
whenever  they  see  a  funeral,  they  lament,  and  repine  that  others  are  gone  to 
a  harbour  of  rest,  to  which  they  themselves  never  can  hope  to  arrive.  They 
have  no  remembrance  of  anything  but  what  they  learned  and  observed  in 
their  youth  and  middle  age,  and  even  that  is  very  imperfect.  And  for  the 
truth  or  particulars  of  any  fact,  it  is  safer  to  depend  on  common  tradition 
than  upon  their  best  recollections.  The  least  miserable  among  them  appear 
to  be  those  who  turn  to  dotage,  and  entirely  lose  their  memories;  these  meet 
with  more  pity  and  assistance,  because  they  want  many  bad  qualities  which 
abound  in  others. 

"If  a  Struldbrug  happen  to  marry  one  of  his  own  kind,  the  marriage  is 
dissolved  of  course,  by  the  courtesy  of  the  kingdom,  as  soon  as  the  younger 
of  the  two  comes  to  be  fourscore.  For  the  law  thinks  it  a  reasonable  indul- 
gence that  those  who  are  condemned,  without  any  fault  of  their  own,  to  a 
perpetual  continuance  in  the  world,  should  not  have  their  misery  doubled  by 
the  load  of  a  wife. 

"As  soon  as  they  have  completed  the  term  of  eighty  years,  they  are  looked 
on  as  dead  in  law;  their  heirs  immediately  succeed  to  their  estates,  only  a 
small  pittance  is  reserved  for  their  support;  and  the  poor  ones  are  maintained 
at  the  public  charge.  After  that  period,  they  are  held  incapable  of  any 
employment  of  trust  or  profit,  they  cannot  purchase  lands  or  take  leases, 
neither  are  they  allowed  to  be  witnesses  in  any  cause,  either  civil  or  criminal, 
not  even  for  the  decision  of  meers  and  bounds. 

"At  ninety  they  lose  their  teeth  and  hair;  they  have  at  that  age  no  dis- 
tinction of  taste,  "but  eat  and  drink  whatever  they  can  get  without  relish  or 
appetite.  The  diseases  they  were  subject  to  still  continue,  without  increasing 
or  diminishing.  In  talking,  they  forget  the  common  appellation  of  things, 
and  the  names  of  persons,  even  of  those  who  are  their  nearest  friends  and 
relations.  For  the  same  reason,  they  can  never  amuse  themselves  with  read- 
ing, because  their  memory  will  not  serve  to  carry  them  from  the  beginning 
of  a  sentence  to  the  end;  and  by  this  defect  they  are  deprived  of  the  only 
entertainment  whereof  they  might  otherwise  be  capable. 

"The  language  of  this  country  being  always  upon  the  flux,  the  Struldbrugs 
of  one  age  do  not  understand  those  of  another;  neither  are  they  able,  after 
two  hundred  years,  to  hold  any  conversation  (further  than  by  a  few  general 
words)  with  their  neighbours,  the  mortals;  and  thus  they  lie  under  the  disad- 
vantage of  living  like  foreigners  in  their  own  country. 

"This  was  the  account  given  me  of  the  Struldbrugs,  as  near  as  I  can  re- 
member. I  afterwards  saw  five  or  six  of  different  ages,  the  youngest  not  above 
two  hundred  years  old,  who  were  brought  to  me  at  several  times  by  some 
of  my  friends;  but  although  they  were  told  'that  I  was  a  great  traveller,  and 
had  seen  all  the  world,'  they  had  not  the  least  curiosity  to  ask  me  a  question; 
only  desired  I  would  give  them  slumskudask,  or  a  token  of  remembrance; 
which  is  a  modest  way  of  begging,  to  avoid  the  law,  that  strictly  forbids  it, 
because  they  are  provided  for  by  the  public,  although  indeed  with  a  very 
scanty  allowance. 

"They  are  despised  and  hated  by  all  sorts  of  people;  when  one  of  them  is 
born,  it  is  reckoned  ominous,  and" their  birth  is  recorded  very  particularly: 
so  that  you  may  know  their  age  by  consulting  the  register,  which,  however, 
has  not  been  kept  above  a  thousand'  years  past,  or  at  least  has  been  destroyed 
by  time  or  public  disturbances.  But  the  usual  way  of  computing  how  old 
they  are,  is  by  asking  them  what  kings  or  great  persons  they  can  remember, 


178  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

to  my  mouth.  I  am  not  ignorant  how  much  I  have 
been  censured  for  mentioning  this  last  particular.  De- 
tractors are  pleased  to  think  it  improbable  that  so  illus- 
trious a  person  should  descend  to  give  so  great  a  mark 
of  distinction  to  a  creature  so  inferior  as  I.  Neither 
have  I  forgotten  how  apt  some  travellers  are  to  boast 
of  extraordinary  favours  they  have  received.  But  if 
these  censurers  were  better  acquainted  with  the  noble 
and  courteous  disposition  of  the  Houyhnhnms  they 
would  soon  change  their  opinion." 

The  surprise  here,  the  audacity  of  circumstantial  evi- 
dence, the  astounding  gravity  of  the  speaker,  who  is  not 
ignorant  how  much  he  has  been  censured,  the  nature  of 
the  favour  conferred,  and  the  respectful  exultation  at 
the  receipt  of  it,  are  surely  complete;  it  is  truth  topsy- 
turvy, entirely  logical  and  absurd. 

As  for  the  humour  and  conduct  of  this  famous  fable, 
I  suppose  there  is  no  person  who  reads  but  must  admire ; 
as  for  the  moral,  I  think  it  horrible,  shameful,  unmanly, 
blasphemous ;  and  giant  and  great  as  this  Dean  is,  I  say 
we  should  hoot  him.  Some  of  this  audience  mayn't 
have  read  the  last  part  of  Gulliver,  and  to  such  I  would 
recall  the  advice  of  the  venerable  Mr.  Punch  to  persons 
about  to  marry,  and  say  "  Don't."  When  Gulliver  first 
lands  among  the  Yahoos,  the  naked  howling  wretches 
clamber  up  trees  and  assault  him,  and  he  describes  him- 
self as  "almost  stifled  with  the  filth  which  fell  about 
him."     The  reader  of  the  fourth  part  of  "  GuUiver's 

and  then  consulting  history;  for  infallibly  the  last  prince  in  their  mind  did 
not  begin  his  reign  after  they  were  fourscore  years  old. 

"  They  were  the  most  mortifying  sight  1  ever  beheld,  and  the  women  more 
horrible  than  the  men;  besides  "the  usual  deformities  in  extreme  old  age,  they 
acquired  an  additional  ghastliness,  in  proportion  to  their  number  of  years, 
which  is  not  to  be  described;  and  among  half-a-dozen,  I  soon  distinguished 
which  was  the  eldest,  although  there  was  not  above  a  century  or  two  between 
ihem." —Oiilliver'a  Travels. 


SWIFT  179 

Travels  "  is  like  the  hero  himself  in  this  instance.  It  is 
Yahoo  language:  a  monster  gibbering  shrieks,  and 
gnashing  imprecations  against  mankind — tearing  down 
all  shreds  of  modesty,  past  all  sense  of  manliness  and 
shame ;  filthy  in  word,  filthy  in  thought,  furious,  raging- 
obscene. 

And  dreadful  it  is  to  think  that  Swift  knew  the  ten- 
dency of  his  creed— the  fatal  rocks  towards  which  his 
logic  desperately  drifted.  That  last  part  of  "  Gulliver  " 
is  only  a  consequence  of  what  has  gone  before ;  and  the 
worthlessness  of  all  mankind,  the  pettiness,  cruelty, 
pride,  imbecility,  the  general  vanity,  the  foolish  preten- 
sion, the  mock  greatness,  the  pompous  dulness,  the  mean 
aims,  the  base  successes— all  these  were  present  to  him; 
it  was  with  the  din  of  these  curses  of  the  world,  blasphe- 
mies against  heaven,  shrieking  in  his  ears,  that  he  began 
to  write  his  dreadful  allegory— of  which  the  meaning  is 
that  man  is  utterly  wicked,  desperate,  and  imbecile,  and 
his  passions  are  so  monstrous,  and  his  boasted  powers  so 
mean,  that  he  is  and  deserves  to  be  the  slave  of  brutes, 
and  ignorance  is  better  than  his  vaunted  reason.  What 
had  this  man  done?  what  secret  remorse  was  rankling 
at  his  heart?  what  fever  was  boiling  in  him,  that  he 
should  see  all  the  world  blood-shot?  We  view  the  world 
with  our  own  eyes,  each  of  us ;  and  we  make  from  within 
us  the  world  we  see.  A  weary  heart  gets  no  gladness  out 
of  sunshine;  a  selfish  man  is  sceptical  about  friendship, 
as  a  man  with  no  ear  doesn't  care  for  music.  A  frightful 
self -consciousness  it  must  have  been,  which  looked  on 
mankind  so  darkly  through  those  keen  eyes  of  Swift. 

A  remarkable  story  is  told  by  Scott,  of  Delany,  who 
interrupted  Archbishop  King  and  Swift  in  a  conversa- 
tion which  left  the  prelate  in  tears,  and  from  which  Swift 


180  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

rushed  away  with  marks  of  strong  terror  and  agitation 
in  his  countenance,  upon  which  the  Archbishop  said  to 
Delany,  "  You  have  just  met  the  most  unhappy  man  on 
earth;  but  on  the  subject  of  his  wretchedness  you  must 
never  ask  a  question." 

The  most  unhappy  man  on  earth;— Miserrimus— what 
a  character  of  him !  And  at  this  time  all  the  great  wits , 
of  England  had  been  at  his  feet.  All  Ireland  had ' 
shouted  after  him,  and  worshipped  him  as  a  liberator,  a 
saviour,  the  greatest  Irish  patriot  and  citizen.  Dean 
Drapier  BickerstafF  Gulliver— the  most  famous  states- 
men, and  the  greatest  poets  of  his  day,  had  applauded 
him,  and  done  him  homage;  and  at  this  time,  writing 
over  to  Bolingbroke  from  Ireland,  he  says,  "It  is  time 
for  me  to  have  done  with  the  world,  and  so  I  would  if  I 
could  get  into  a  better  before  I  was  called  into  the  best, 
and  not  die  here  in  a  rage,  like  a  poisoned  rat  in  a  hole" 

We  have  spoken  about  the  men,  and  Swift's  behaviour 
to  them;  and  now  it  behoves  us  not  to  forget  that  there 
are  certain  other  persons  in  the  creation  who  had  rather 
intimate  relations  with  the  great  Dean.^     Two  women 

^  The  name  of  Varina  has  been  thrown  into  the  shade  by  those  of  the 
famous  Stella  and  Vanessa;  but  she  had  a  story  of  her  own  to  tell  about 
the  blue  eyes  of  young  Jonathan.  One  may  say  that  the  book  of  Swift's 
Life  opens  at  places  kept  by  these  blighted  flowers !  Varina  must  have 
a  paragraph. 

She  was  a  Miss  Jane  Waryng,  sister  to  a  college  chum  of  his.  In  1696, 
when  Swift  was  nineteen  years  old,  we  find  him  writing  a  lo%'e-letter  to  her, 
beginning,  "Impatience  is  the  most  inseparable  quality  of  a  lover."  But 
absence  made  a  great  difference  in  his  feelings;  so,  four  years  afterwards, 
the  tone  is  changed.  He  writes  again,  a  very  curious  letter,  offering  to 
marry  her,  and  putting  the  offer  in  such  a  way  that  nobody  could  possibly 
accept  it. 

After  dwelling  on  his  poverty,  &c.  he  says,  conditionally,  "I  shall  be  blessed 
to  have  you  in  my  arms,  without  regarding  whether  your  person  be  beautiful, 
or  your  fortune  large.  Cleanliness  in  the  first,  and  competencj-  in  the  second, 
is  all  I  ask  for!" 

The  editors  do  not  tell  us  what  became  of  Varina  in  life.  One  would  be 
glad  to  know  that  she  met  with  some  worthy  partner,  and  lived  long  enough 
to  see  her  little  boys  laughing  over  Lilliput,'  without  any  arriere  pensee  of  & 
sad  character  about  the  great  Dean ! 


SWIFT  181 

whom  he  loved  and  injured  are  known  by  every  reader 
of  books  so  famiharly  that  if  we  had  seen  them,  or  if 
they  had  been  relatives  of  our  own,  we  scarcely  could 
have  known  them  better.  Who  hasn't  in  his  mind  an  im- 
age of  Stella?  Who  does  not  love  her?  Fair  and  ten- 
der creature:  pure  and  affectionate  heart!  Boots  it  to 
you,  now  that  you  have  been  at  rest  for  a  hundred  and 
twenty  years,  not  divided  in  death  from  the  cold  heart 
which  caused  yours,  whilst  it  beat,  such  faithful  pangs 
of  love  and  grief —boots  it  to  you  now,  that  the  whole 
world  loves  and  deplores  you?  Scarce  any  man,  I  be- 
lieve, ever  thought  of  that  grave,  that  did  not  cast  a 
flower  of  pity  on  it,  and  write  over  it  a  sweet  epitaph. 
Gentle  lady,  so  lovely,  so  loving,  so  unhappy !  you  have 
had  countless  champions;  millions  of  manly  hearts 
mourning  for  you.  From  generation  to  generation  we 
take  up  the  fond  tradition  of  your  beauty ;  we  watch  and 
follow  your  tragedy,  your  bright  morning  love  and 
purity,  your  constancy,  your  grief,  your  sweet  martyr- 
dom. We  know  your  legend  by  heart.  You  are  one  of 
the  saints  of  English  story. 

And  if  Stella's  love  and  innocence  are  charming  to 
contemplate,  I  will  say  that  in  spite  of  ill-usage,  in  spite 
of  drawbacks,  in  spite  of  mysterious  separation  and 
union,  of  hope  delayed  and  sickened  heart— in  the  teeth 
of  Vanessa,  and  that  little  episodical  aberration  which 
plunged  Swift  into  such  woful  pitfalls  and  quagmires 
of  amorous  perplexity— in  spite  of  the  verdicts  of  most 
women,  I  believe,  who,  as  far  as  my  experience  and  con- 
versation go,  generally  take  Vanessa's  part  in  the  con- 
troversy—in spite  of  the  tears  which  Swift  caused  Stella 
to  shed,  and  the  rocks  and  barriers  which  fate  and  tem- 
per interposed,  and  which  prevented  the  pure  course  of 


182  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

that  true  love  from  running  smoothly — the  brightest 
part  of  Swift's  story,  the  pure  star  in  that  dark  and 
tempestuous  life  of  Swift's,  is  his  love  for  Hester  John- 
son. It  has  been  my  business,  professionally  of  course, 
to  go  through  a  deal  of  sentimental  reading  in  my  time, 
and  to  acquaint  myself  with  love-making,  as  it  has  been 
described  in  various  languages,  and  at  various  ages  of 
the  world;  and  I  know  of  nothing  more  manly,  more 
tender,  more  exquisitely  touching,  than  some  of  these 
brief  notes,  written  in  what  Swift  calls  "his  little  lan- 
guage "  in  his  journal  to  Stella/  He  writes  to  her  night 
and  morning  often.  He  never  sends  away  a  letter  to  her 
but  he  begins  a  new  one  on  the  same  day.  He  can't  bear 
to  let  go  her  kind  little  hand,  as  it  were.  He  knows  that 
she  is  thinking  of  him,  and  longing  for  him  far  away  in 
Dublin  yonder.  He  takes  her  letters  from  under  his  pil- 
low and  talks  to  them,  familiarly,  paternally,  with  fond 
epithets  and  pretty  caresses — as  he  would  to  the  sweet 
and  artless  creature  who  loved  him.  "  Stay,"  he  writes 
one  morning — it  is  the  14th  of  December,  1710 — "  Stay, 
I  will  answer  some  of  your  letter  this  morning  in  bed. 
Let  me  see.  Come  and  appear,  little  letter!  Here  I  am, 
says  he,  and  what  say  you  to  Stella  this  morning  fresh 
and  fasting?  And  can  Stella  read  this  writing  without 
hurting  her  dear  eyes?  "  he  goes  on,  after  more  kind 
prattle   and   fond   whispering.      The   dear   eyes   shine 

*  A  sentimental  Champollion  might  find  a  good  deal  of  matter  for  his  art, 
in  expounding  the  symbols  of  the  "  Little  Language."  Usually,  Stella  is 
"M.D.,"  but  sometimes  her  companion,  Mrs.  Dingley,  is  included  in  it.  Swift 
is  "Presto;"  also  P.D.F.R.  We  have  "Good-night,  M.D.;  Night,  M.D.; 
Little,  M.D.;  Stellakins;  Pretty  Stella;  Dear,  roguish,  impudent,  pretty 
M.D."    Every  now  and  then  he  breaks  into  rhyme,  as— 

"  I  wish  you  both  a  merry  new  year. 

Roast-beef,  minced-pies,  and  good  strong  beer, 
And  me  a  share  of  your  good  cheer. 
That  I  was  there,  as  you  were  here. 
And  you  are  a  little  saucy  dear." 


SWIFT  183 

clearly  upon  him  then— the  good  angel  of  his  life  is  with 
him  and  blessing  him.  Ah,  it  was  a  hard  fate  that  wrung 
from  them  so  many  tears,  and  stabbed  pitilessly  that 
pure  and  tender  bosom.  A  hard  fate:  but  would  she 
have  changed  it?  I  have  heard  a  woman  say  that  she 
would  have  taken  Swift's  cruelty  to  have  had  his  tender- 
ness. He  had  a  sort  of  worship  for  her  whilst  he 
wounded  her.  He  speaks  of  her  after  she  is  gone;  of 
her  wit,  of  her  kindness,  of  her  grace,  of  her  beauty,  with 
a  simple  love  and  reverence  that  are  indescribably  touch- 
ing; in  contemplation  of  her  goodness  his  hard  heart 
melts  into  pathos;  his  cold  rhyme  kindles  and  glows 
into  poetry,  and  he  falls  down  on  his  knees,  so  to  speak, 
before  the  angel  whose  life  he  had  embittered,  confesses 
his  own  wretchedness  and  unworthiness,  and  adores  her 
with  cries  of  remorse  and  love:— 

"  When  on  my  sickly  couch  I  lay, 
Impatient  both  of  night  and  day. 
And  groaning  in  unmanly  strains, 
Called  every  power  to  ease  my  pains. 
Then  Stella  ran  to  my  relief. 
With  cheerful  face  and  inward  grief, 
And  though  by  heaven's  severe  decree 
She  suffers  hourly  more  than  me, 
No  cruel  master  could  require 
From  slaves  employed  for  daily  hire. 
What  Stella,  by  her  friendship  warmed, 
With  vigour  and  delight  performed. 
Now,  with  a  soft  and  silent  tread. 
Unheard  she  moves  about  my  bed: 
My  sinking  spirits  now  supplies 
With  cordials  in  her  hands  and  eyes. 
Best  pattern  of  true  friends !   beware ; 


184  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

You  pay  too  dearly  for  your  care 
If,  while  your  tenderness  secures 
My  life,  it  must  endanger  yours: 
For  such  a  fool  was  never  found 
Who  pulled  a  palace  to  the  ground, 
Only  to  have  the  ruins  made 
Materials  for  a  house  decayed." 

One  little  triumph  Stella  had  in  her  life— one  dear 
little  piece  of  injustice  was  performed  in  her  favour,  for 
which  I  confess,  for  my  part,  I  can't  help  thanking  fate 
and  the  Dean.  That  other  person  was  sacrificed  to  her 
—that— that  young  woman,  who  lived  five  doors  from 
Dr.  Swift's  lodgings  in  Bury  Street,  and  who  flattered 
him,  and  made  love  to  him  in  such  an  outrageous  manner 
— Vanessa  was  thrown  over. 

Swift  did  not  keep  Stella's  letters  to  him  in  reply  to 
those  he  wrote  to  her.^     He  kept  Bolingbroke's,  and 

^  The  following  passages  are  from  a  paper  begun  by  Swift  on  the  evening 
of  the  day  of  her  death,  Jan.  28,  1727-8:— 

"She  was  sickly  from  her  childhood,  until  about  the  age  of  fifteen;  but 
then  she  grew  into  perfect  health,  and  Wcis  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  most 
beautiful,  graceful,  and  agreeable  young  women  in  London— only  a  little  too 
fat.  Her  hair  was  blacker  than  a  raven,  and  every  feature  of  her  face  in 
perfection. 

".  .  .  .  Properly  speaking"— he  goes  on,  with  a  calmness  which,  under 
the  circumstances,  is  terrible— "she  has  been  dying  six  months!     .... 

"Never  was  any  of  her  sex  born  with  better  gifts  of  the  mind,  or  who  more 

improved    them    by    reading   and    conversation All    of    us    who 

had  the  happiness"  of  her  friendship  agreed  unanimously,  that  in  an  after- 
noon's or  evening's  conversation  she  never  failed  before  we  parted  of  de- 
livering the  best  thing  that  was  said  in  the  company.  Some  of  us  have 
written  down  several  of  her  sayings,  or  what  the  French  call  bons  mots, 
wherein  she  excelled  beyond  belief." 

The  specimens  on  record,  however,  in  the  Dean's  paper,  called  "Bons  Mots 
de  Stella,"  scarcely  bear  out  this  last  part  of  the  panegyric.  But  the  follow- 
ing prove  her  wit: — 

"A  gentleman  who  had  been  very  silly  and  pert  in  her  company,  at  last 
began  to  grieve  at  remembering  the  loss  of  a  child  lately  dead.  A  bishop  sit- 
ting by  comforted  him— that  he  should  be  easy,  because  'the  child  was  gone 
to  heaven.'  'No,  my  lord,'  said  she;  'that  is  it  which  most  grieves  him,  be- 
cause he  is  sure  never  to  see  his  child  there.' 

"When  she  was  extremely  ill,  her  physician  said,  'Madam,  you  are  near  the 
bottom  of  the  hill,  but  we  will  endeavour  to  get  you  up  again.'  She  answered, 
'  Doctor,  I  fear  I  shall  be  out  of  breath  before  *I  get  up  to  the  top.' 


SWIFT  185 

Pope's,  and  Harley's,  and  Peterborough's:  but  Stella, 
"very  carefully,"  the  Lives  say,  kept  Swift's.  Of 
course:  that  is  the  way  of  the  world:  and  so  we  cannot 
tell  what  her  style  was,  or  of  what  sort  were  the  little  let- 
ters which  the  Doctor  placed  there  at  night,  and  bade 
to  appear  from  under  his  pillow  of  a  morning.  But  in 
Letter  IV.  of  that  famous  collection  he  describes  his 
lodging  in  Bury  Street,  where  he  has  the  first-floor,  a 
dining-room  and  bed-chamber,  at  eight  shillings  a  week ; 
and  in  Letter  VI.  he  says  "he  has  visited  a  lady  just 
come  to  town,"  whose  name  somehow  is  not  mentioned ; 
and  in  Letter  VIII.  he  enters  a  query  of  Stella's— 
"  What  do  you  mean  '  that  boards  near  me,  that  I  dine 
with  now  and  then  ? '  What  the  deuce !  You  know  whom 
I  have  dined  with  every  day  since  I  left  you,  better  than 
I  do."  Of  course  she  does.  Of  course  Swift  has  not  the 
slightest  idea  of  what  she  means.  But  in  a  few  letters 
more  it  turns  out  that  the  Doctor  has  been  to  dine 
"gravely"  with  a  Mrs.  Vanhomrigh:  then  that  he  has 
been  to  "his  neighbour: "  then  that  he  has  been  unwell, 
and  means  to  dine  for  the  whole  week  with  his  neighbour! 
Stella  was  quite  right  in  her  previsions.  She  saw  from 
the  very  first  hint,  what  was  going  to  happen;  and 
scented  Vanessa  in  the  air.^     The  rival  is  at  the  Dean's 


"A  very  dirty  clergyman  of  her  acquaintance,  who  affected  smartness  and 
repartees,  was  asked  by  some  of  the  company  how  his  nails  came  to  be  so 
dirty.  He  was  at  a  loss;  but  she  solved  the  difficulty  by  saying,  'The  Doctor's 
nails  grew  dirty  by  scratching  himself.' 

"A  Quaker  apothecary  sent  her  a  vial,  corked;  it  had  a  broad  brim,  and  a 
label  of  paper  about  its  neck.  'What  is  that?'— said  she— 'my  apothecary's 
son ! '  The  ridiculous  resemblance,  and  the  suddenness  of  the  question,  set 
us  all  a-laughing." — Swift's  Works,  Scott's  Ed.  vol.  ix.  295-6. 

*"I  am  so  hot  and  lazj'-  after  my  morning's  walk,  that  I  loitered  at  Mrs. 
Vanhomrigh's,  where  my  best  gown  and  periwig  was,  and  out  of  mere  list- 
lessness  dine  there,  very  often;  so  I  did  to-da,y."— Journal  to  Stella. 

Mrs.  Vanhomrigh,  "Vanessa's"  mother,  was  the  widow  of  a  Dutch  mer- 
chant who  held  lucrative  appointments  in  King  William's  time.  The  family 
settled  in  London  in  1709,  and  had  a  house  in  Bury  Street,  St.  James's— a 


186  ENGLISH  HUMOURISTS 

feet.  The  pupil  and  teacher  are  reading  together,  and 
drinking  tea  together,  and  going  to  prayers  together, 
and  learning  Latin  together,  and  conjugating  amo, 
amas,  amavi  together.  The  little  language  is  over  for 
poor  Stella.  By  the  rule  of  grammar  and  the  course  of 
conjugation,  doesn't  amavi  come  after  amo  and  amas? 

The  loves  of  Cadenus  and  Vanessa  ^  you  may  peruse 
in  Cadenus's  own  poem  on  the  subject,  and  in  poor  Va- 
nessa's vehement  expostulatory  verses  and  letters  to  him ; 
she  adores  him,  implores  him,  admires  him,  thinks  him 
something  god-like,  and  only  prays  to  be  admitted  to  lie 
at  his  feet.^  As  they  are  bringing  him  home  from 
church,  those  divine  feet  of  Dr.  Swift's  are  found  pretty 
often  in  Vanessa's  parlour.  He  likes  to  be  admired  and 
adored.  He  finds  Miss  Vanhomrigh  to  be  a  woman  of 
great  taste  and  spirit,  and  beauty  and  wit,  and  a  fortune 
too.    He  sees  her  every  day ;  he  does  not  tell  Stella  about 

street  made  notable  by  such  residents  as  Swift  and  Steele;  and,  in  our  ovm 
time,  Moore  and  Crabbe. 

^ "  Vanessa  was  excessively  vain.  The  character  given  of  her  by  Cadenus 
is  fine  painting,  but  in  general  fictitious.  She  was  fond  of  dress ;  impatient  to 
be  admired;  very  romantic  in  her  turn  of  mind;  superior,  in  her  own  opinion, 
to  all  her  sex;  full  of  pertness,  gaiety,  and  pride;  not  without  some 
agreeable  accomplishments,  but  far  from  being  either  beautiful  or  genteel; 
.  .  .  .  happy  in  the  thoughts  of  being  reported  Swift's  concubine,  but 
still  aiming  and  intending  to  be  his  wife."— Lord  Orrery. 

^ "  You  bid  me  be  easy,  and  you  would  see  me  as  often  as  you  could.  You 
had  better  have  said,  as  often  as  you  can  get  the  better  of  your  inclinations 
so  much;  or  as  often  as  you  remember  there  was  such  a  one  in  the  world.  If 
you  continue  to  treat  me  as  you  do,  you  will  not  be  made  uneasy  by  me  long. 
It  is  impossible  to  describe  what  I  have  suflPered  since  I  saw  you  last:  I  am 
sure  I  could  have  borne  the  rack  much  better  than  those  killing,  killing  words 
of  yours.  Sometimes  I  have  resolved  to  die  without  seeing  you  more;  but 
those  resolves,  to  your  misfortune,  did  not  last  long;  for  there  is  something 
in  human  nature  that  prompts  one  so  to  find  relief  in  this  world  I  must  give 
way  to  it,  and  beg  you  would  see  me,  and  speak  kindly  to  me;  for  I  am  sure 
you'd  not  condemn  any  one  to  suffer  what  I  have  done,  could  you  but  know 
it.  The  reason  I  write  to  you  is,  because  I  cannot  tell  it  to  you,  should  I  see 
you;  for  when  I  begin  to  complain,  then  you  are  angry,  and  there  is  some- 
thing in  your  looks  so  awful  that  it  strikes  me  dumb.  Oh!  that  you  may  have 
but  so  much  regard  for  me  left  that  this  complaint  may  touch  your  soul  with 
pity.  I  say  as  little  as  ever  I  can;  did  you  but  know  what  I  thought,  I  am 
sure  it  would  move  you  to  forgive  me ;  and  believe  I  cannot  help  telling  you 
this  and  live."— Vanessa.     (M.  1714.) 


SWIFT  187 

the  business:  until  the  impetuous  Vanessa  becomes  too 
fond  of  him,  until  the  Doctor  is  quite  frightened  by  the 
young  woman's  ardour,  and  confounded  by  her  warmth. 
He  wanted  to  marry  neither  of  them— that  I  believe  was 
the  truth;  but  if  he  had  not  married  Stella,  Vanessa 
would  have  had  him  in  spite  of  himself.  When  he  went 
back  to  Ireland,  his  Ariadne,  not  content  to  remain  in 
her  isle,  pursued  the  fugitive  Dean.  In  vain  he  pro- 
tested, he  vowed,  he  soothed,  and  bullied;  the  news  of 
the  Dean's  marriage  with  Stella  at  last  came  to  her,  and 
it  killed  her— she  died  of  that  passion.^ 

^"If  we  consider  Swift's  behaviour,  so  far  only  as  it  relates  to  women, 
we  shall  find  that  he  looked  upon  them  rather  as  busts  than  as  whole  figures." 
— Orrery. 

"  You  would  have  smiled  to  have  found  his  house  a  constant  seraglio  of 
very  virtuous  women,  who  attended  him  from  morning  till  night."— Orrery. 

A  correspondent  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  furnished  him  with  the  materials  on 
which  to  found  the  following  interesting  passage  about  Vanessa — after  she 
had  retired  to  cherish  her  passion  in  retreat:  — 

"Marley  Abbey,  near  Celbridge,  where  Miss  Vanhomrigh  resided,  is  built 
much  in  the  form  of  a  real  cloister,  especially  in  its  external  appearance.  An 
aged  man  (upwards  of  ninety,  by  his  own  account)  showed  the  grounds  to 
my  correspondent.  He  was  the  son  of  Mrs.  Vanhomrigh's  gardener,  and  used 
to  work  with  his  father  in  the  garden  when  a  boy.  He  remembered  the  un- 
fortunate Vanessa  well;  and  his  account  of  her  corresponded  with  the  usual 
description  of  her  person,  especially  as  to  her  embonpoint.  He  said  she 
went  seldom  abroad,  and  saw  little  company:  her  constant  amusement  was 
reading,  or  walking  in  the  garden.  .  .  .  She  avoided  company,  and  was 
always  melancholy,  save  when  Dean  Swift  was  there,  and  then  she  seemed 
happy.  The  garden  was  to  an  uncommon  degree  crowded  with  laurels.  The 
old  man  said  that  when  Miss  Vanhomrigh  expected  the  Dean  she  always 
planted  with  her  own  hand  a  laurel  or  two  against  his  arrival.  He  showed 
her  favourite  seat,  still  called  '  Vanessa's  bower.'     Three  or  four  trees  and 

some  laurels  indicate  the  spot There  were  two  seats  and  a  rude 

table  within  the  bower,  the  opening  of  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  LiflFey. 
.  .  .  .  In  this  sequestered  spot,  according  to  the  old  gardener's  account, 
the  Dean  and  Vanessa  used  often  to  sit,  with  books  and  writing-materials  on 
the  table  before  them."— Scott's  Swift,  vol.  i.  pp.  246-7. 

".  .  .  .  But  Miss  Vanhomrigh,  irritated  at  the  situation  in  which  she 
found  herself,  determined  on  bringing  to  a  crisis  those  expectations  of  a 
union  with  the  object  of  her  affections— to  the  hope  of  which  she  had  clung 
amid  every  vicissitude  of  his  conduct  towards  her.  The  most  probable  bar 
was  his  undefined  connection  with  Mrs.  Johnson,  which,  as  it  must  have  been 
perfectly  known  to  her,  had,  doubtless,  long  excited  her  secret  jealousy,  al- 
though only  a  single  hint  to  that  purpose  is  to  be  found  in  their  corre- 
spondence, and  that  so  early  as  1713,  when  she  writes  to  him— then  in  Ireland 
— 'If  you  are  very  happy,  it  is  ill-natured  of  you  not  to  tell  me  so,  except 
'tis  what  is  inconsistent  with  mine.'     Her  silence  and  patience  under  this 


188  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

And  when  she  died,  and  Stella  heard  that  Swift  had 
written  beautifully  regarding  her,  "  That  doesn't  sur- 
prise me,"  said  INIrs.  Stella,  "  for  we  all  know  the  Dean 
could  write  beautifully  about  a  broomstick."  A  woman 
— a  true  woman !  Would  you  have  had  one  of  them  for- 
give the  other? 

In  a  note  in  his  biography,  Scott  says  that  his  friend 
Dr.  Tuke,  of  Dublin,  has  a  lock  of  Stella's  hair,  enclosed 
in  a  paper  by  Swift,  on  which  are  written,  in  the  Dean's 
hand,  the  words :  " Only  a  woman's  hair"  An  instance, 
says  Scott,  of  the  Dean's  desire  to  veil  his  feelings  under 
the  mask  of  cynical  indifference. 

See  the  various  notions  of  critics!  Do  those  words  in- 
dicate indifference  or  an  attempt  to  hide  feeling?  Did 
)^ou  ever  hear  or  read  four  words  more  pathetic?  Only 
a  woman's  hair :  only  love,  only  fidelity,  only  purity,  in- 
nocence, beauty;  only  the  tenderest  heart  in  the  world 
stricken  and  wounded,  and  passed  away  now  out  of 
reach  of  pangs  of  hope  deferred,  love  insulted,  and  piti- 

state  of  uncertainty  for  no  less  than  eight  years,  must  have  been  partly 
owing  to  her  awe  for  Swift,  and  partly,  perhaps,  to  the  weali  state  of  her 
rival's  health,  which,  from  year  to  year,  seemed  to  announce  speedy  dissolu- 
tion. At  length,  however,  Vanessa's  impatience  prevailed,  and  she  ventured 
on  the  decisive  step  of  writing  to  Mrs.  Johnson  herself,  requesting  to  know 
the  nature  of  that  connection.  Stella,  in  reply,  informed  her  of  her  mar- 
riage with  the  Dean;  and  full  of  the  highest  resentment  against  Swift  for 
having  given  another  female  such  a  right  in  him  as  Miss  Vanhomrigh's  in- 
quiries implied,  she  sent  to  him  her  rival's  letter  of  interrogation,  and  without 
seeing  him,  or  awaiting  his  reply,  retired  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Ford,  near 
Dublin.  Every  reader  knows  the  consequence.  Swift,  in  one  of  those  par- 
oxysms of  fury  to  which  he  was  liable,  both  from  temper  and  disease,  rode 
instantly  to  Marley  Abbey,  As  he  entered  the  apartment,  the  sternness  of 
his  countenance,  which  was  peculiarly  formed  to  express  the  fiercer  passions, 
struck  the  unfortunate  Vanessa  with  such  terror  that  she  could  scarce  ask 
whether  he  would  not  sit  down.  He  answered  by  flinging  a  letter  on  the 
table,  and,  instantly  leaving  the  house,  mounted  his  horse,  and  returned  to 
Dublin.  When  Vanessa  opened  tiie  packet,  she  only  found  her  own  letter  to 
Stella.  It  was  her  death-warrant.  She  sunk  at  once  under  the  disappoint- 
ment of  the  delayed  yet  cherished  hopes  which  had  so  long  sickened  her 
heart,  and  beneath  the  unrestrained  wrath  of  him  for  whose  sake  she  had 
indulged  them.  How  long  she  survived  this  last  interview  is  uncertain,  but 
the  time  does  not  seem  to  have  exceeded  a  few  weeks." — Scott. 


SWIFT  189 

less  desertion:— only  that  lock  of  hair  left;  and  memory 
and  remorse,  for  the  guilty,  lonely  wretch,  shuddering 
over  the  grave  of  his  victim. 

And  yet  to  have  had  so  much  love,  he  must  have  given 
some.  Treasures  of  wit  and  wisdom,  and  tenderness, 
too,  must  that  man  have  had  locked  up  in  the  caverns  of 
his  gloomy  heart,  and  shown  fitfully  to  one  or  two  whom 
he  took  in  there.  But  it  was  not  good  to  visit  that  place. 
People  did  not  remain  there  long,  and  suffered  for  hav- 
ing been  there. ^  He  shrank  away  from  all  affections 
sooner  or  later.  Stella  and  Vanessa  both  died  near  him, 
and  away  from  him.  He  had  not  heart  enough  to  see 
them  die.  He  broke  from  his  fastest  friend,  Sheridan; 
he  slunk  away  from  his  fondest  admirer.  Pope.  His 
laugh  jars  on  one's  ear  after  seven  score  years.  He  was 
always  alone— alone  and  gnashing  in  the  darkness,  ex- 
cept when  Stella's  sweet  smile  came  and  shone  upon  him. 
When  that  went,  silence  and  utter  night  closed  over  him. 
An  immense  genius:  an  awful  downfall  and  ruin.  So 
great  a  man  he  seems  to  me,  that  thinking  of  him  is  like 
thinking  of  an  empire  falling.  We  have  other  great 
names  to  mention— none  I  think,  however,  so  great  or  so 
gloomy. 

*  "  M.  Swift  est  Rabelais  dans  son  bon  sens,  et  vivant  en  bonne  compagnie. 
II  n'a  pas,  k  la  verity,  la  gaite  du  premier,  mais  il  a  toute  la  finesse,  la  raison, 
le  choix,  le  bon  godt  qui  manquent  k  notre  cur6  de  Meudon.  Ses  vers  sent 
d'un  goGt  singulier,  et  presque  inimitable;  la  bonne  plaisanterie  est  son 
partage  en  vers  et  en  prose ;  mais  pour  le  bien  entendre  il  f aut  f aire  un  petit 
voyage  dans  son  pays."— Voltaiee:  Lettres  sur  les  Anglais.     Let.  22. 


CONGREVE  AND  ADDISON 

A  GREAT  number  of  years  ago,  before  the  passing  of 
.  the  Reform  Bill,  there  existed  at  Cambridge  a 
certain  debating-club,  called  the  "Union;"  and  I  re- 
member that  there  was  a  tradition  amongst  the  under- 
graduates who  frequented  that  renowned  school  of  ora- 
tory, that  the  great  leaders  of  the  Opposition  and 
Government  had  their  eyes  upon  the  University  De- 
bating-Club,  and  that  if  a  man  distinguished  himself 
there  he  ran  some  chance  of  being  returned  to  Parlia- 
ment as  a  great  nobleman's  nominee.  So  Jones  of 
John's,  or  Thomson  of  Trinity,  would  rise  in  their  might, 
and  draping  themselves  in  their  gowns,  rally  round  the 
monarchy,  or  hurl  defiance  at  priests  and  kings,  with  the 
majesty  of  Pitt  or  the  fire  of  Mirabeau,  fancying  all  the 
while  that  the  great  nobleman's  emissary  was  listening  to 
the  debate  from  the  back  benches,  where  he  was  sitting 
with  the  family  seat  in  his  pocket.  Indeed,  the  legend 
said  that  one  or  two  young  Cambridge  men,  orators  of 
the  "  Union,"  were  actually  caught  up  thence,  and  car- 
ried down  to  Cornwall  or  old  Sarum,  and  so  into  Parlia- 
ment. And  many  a  young  fellow  deserted  the  jogtrot 
University  curriculum,  to  hang  on  in  the  dust  behind  the 
fervid  wheels  of  the  parliamentary^  chariot. 

Where,  I  have  often  wondered,  were  the  sons  of  Peers 
and  Members  of  Parliament  in  Anne's  and  George's 
time?    Were  they  all  in  the  army,  or  hunting  in  the  coun- 

190 


Congreve 


CONGREVE  AND   ADDISON         191 

try,  or  boxing  the  watch?  How  was  it  that  the  young 
gentlemen  from  the  University  got  such  a  prodigious 
number  of  places?  A  lad  composed  a  neat  copy  of  verses 
at  Christchurch  or  Trinity,  in  which  the  death  of  a  great 
personage  was  bemoaned,  the  French  king  assailed,  the 
Dutch  or  Prince  Eugene  complimented,  or  the  reverse; 
and  the  party  in  power  was  presently  to  provide  for  the 
young  poet;  and  a  commissionership,  or  a  post  in  the 
Stamps,  or  the  secretaryship  of  an  Embassy,  or  a  clerk- 
ship in  the  Treasury,  came  into  the  bard's  possession.  A 
wonderful  fruit-bearing  rod  was  that  of  Busby's.  What 
have  men  of  letters  got  in  our  time?  Think,  not  only  of 
Swift,  a  king  fit  to  rule  in  any  time  or  empire — but  Ad- 
dison, Steele,  Prior,  Tickell,  Congreve,  John  Gay,  John 
Dennis,  and  many  others,  who  got  public  employment, 
and  pretty  little  pickings  out  of  the  public  purse.  ^  The 
wits  of  whose  names  we  shall  treat  in  this  lecture  and  two 
following,  all  (save  one)  touched  the  King's  coin,  and 
had,  at  some  period  of  their  lives,  a  happy  quarter-day 
coming  round  for  them. 

They  all  began  at  school  or  college  in  the  regular  way, 

•  The  following  is  a  conspectus  of  them:— 

Addison.— Commissioner  of  Appeals;  Under  Secretary  of  State;  Secretary 
to  the  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland;  Keeper  of  the  Records  in  Ire- 
land; Lord  of  Trade;  and  one  of  the  Principal  Secretaries  of 
State,  successively. 

Steele.— Commissioner  of  the  Stamp  Office;  Surveyor  of  the  Royal  Stables 
at  Hampton  Court;  and  Governor  of  the  Royal  Company  of  Come- 
dians; Commissioner  of  "Forfeited  Estates  in  Scotland." 

Prior.— Secretary  to  the  Embassy  at  the  Hague;  Gentleman  of  the  Bed- 
chamber to  King  William;  Secretary  to  the  Embassy  in  France; 
Under  Secretary  of  State;  Ambassador  to  France. 

Tickell.— Under  Secretary  of  State;  Secretary  to  the  Lords  Justices  of  Ire- 
land. 

Congreve.— Commissioner  for  licensing  Hackney  Coaches;  Commissioner  for 
Wine  Licences;  place  in  the  Pipe  Office;  post  in  the  Custom  House; 
Secretary  of  Jamaica. 

Gay.— Secretary  to  the  Earl  of  Clarendon  (when  Ambassador  to  Hanover). 

John  Dennis.— A  place  in  the  Custom  House. 

"En  Angleterre  .  .  .  .  les  lettres  sent  plus  en  honneur  qu'ici."— Voltaike: 

Lettres  sur  les  Anglais.    Let.  20. 


192  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

producing  panegyrics  upon  public  characters,  what  were 
called  odes  upon  public  events,  battles,  sieges,  court  mar- 
riages and  deaths,  in  which  the  gods  of  Olympus  and  the 
tragic  muse  were  fatigued  with  invocations,  according 
to  the  fashion  of  the  time  in  France  and  in  England. 
"Aid  us,  JNIars,  Bacchus,  Apollo,"  cried  Addison,  or 
Congreve,  singing  of  William  or  Marlborough.  ''Ac- 
courez,  cliastes  iiymphes  du  Permesse/'  says  Boileau, 
celebrating  the  Grand  Monarch.  ''Des  sons  que  ma  lyre 
enfante  marquez  en  bien  la  cadence,  et  vous  ventSj,  faites 
silence!  je  vais  parler  de  Louis!"  Schoolboys'  themes 
and  foundation  exercises  are  the  only  relics  left  now  of 
this  scholastic  fashion.  The  Olympians  are  left  quite 
undisturbed  in  their  mountain.  What  man  of  note,  what 
contributor  to  the  poetry  of  a  country  newspaper,  would 
now  think  of  writing  a  congratulatory  ode  on  the  birth 
of  the  heir  to  a  dukedom,  or  the  marriage  of  a  nobleman  ? 
In  the  past  century  the  young  gentlemen  of  the  Uni- 
versities all  exercised  themselves  at  these  queer  compo- 
sitions; and  some  got  fame,  and  some  gained  patrons 
and  places  for  life,  and  many  more  took  nothing  by  these 
efforts  of  what  they  were  pleased  to  call  their  muses. 

William  Congreve's  ^  Pindaric  Odes  are  still  to  be 
found  in  "Johnson's  Poets,"  that  now  unfrequented 
poets'-corner,  in  which  so  many  forgotten  big-wigs  have 
a  niche;  but  though  he  was  also  voted  to  be  one  of  the 
greatest  tragic  poets  of  any  day,  it  was  Congreve's  wit 
and  humour  which  first  recommended  him  to  courtly  for- 
tune. And  it  is  recorded  that  liis  first  play,  the  "  Old 
Bachelor,"  brought  our  author  to  the  notice  of  that  great 
patron  of  English  muses,  Charles  Montague  Lord  Hali- 

'  He  was  the  son  of  Colonel  William  Congreve,  and  grandson  of  Richard 
Congreve,  Esq.,  of  Congreve  and  Stretton  in  Staffordshire— a  very  ancient 
family. 


CONGREVE   AND   ADDISON  193 

fax— who,  being  desirous  to  place  so  eminent  a  wit  in  a 
state  of  ease  and  tranquillity,  instantly  made  him  one  of 
the  Commissioners  for  licensing  hackney-coaches,  be- 
stowed on  him  soon  after  a  place  in  the  Pipe  Office,  and 
likewise  a  post  in  the  Custom  House  of  the  value  of  600Z. 

A  commissionership  of  hackney-coaches— a  post  in  the 
Custom  House— a  place  in  the  Pipe  Office,  and  all  for 
writing  a  comedy!  Doesn't  it  sound  like  a  fable,  that 
place  in  the  Pipe  Office?  ^  "Ah,  I'heureux  temps  que 
celui  de  ces  fables!  "  Men  of  letters  there  still  be:  but 
I  doubt  whether  any  Pipe  Offices  are  left.  The  Public 
has  smoked  them  long  ago. 

Words,  like  men,  pass  current  for  a  while  with  the 
public,  and  being  known  everywhere  abroad,  at  length 
take  their  places  in  society;  so  even  the  most  secluded 
and  refined  ladies  here  present  will  have  heard  the  phrase 
from  their  sons  or  brothers  at  school,  and  will  permit  me 
to  call  William  Congreve,  Esquire,  the  most  eminent  lit- 
erary "  swell "  of  his  age.  In  my  copy  of  "  Johnson's 
Lives  "  Congreve's  wig  is  the  tallest,  and  put  on  with  the 
jauntiest  air  of  all  the  laurelled  worthies.  "  I  am  the 
great  Mr.  Congreve,"  he  seems  to  say,  looking  out  from 
his  voluminous  curls.    People  called  him  the  great  Mr. 

*  "  Five.— Pipa,  in  law,  is  a  roll  in  the  Exchequer,  called  also  the  great 
roll. 

"  Pipe  Office  is  an  office  in  which  a  person  called  the  Clerk  of  the  Pipe 
makes  out  leases  of  Crown  lands,  by  warrant  from  the  Lord  Treasurer,  or 
Commissioners  of  the  Treasury,  or  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer. 

"Clerk  of  the  Pipe  makes  up  all  accounts  of  sheriffs,  &c."— Rees:  Cyclopwd. 
Art.  Pipe. 

"Pipe  0/^ce.— Spelman  thinks  so  called,  because  the  papers  were  kept  in 
a  large  pipe  or  cask. 

"'These  be  at  last  brought  into  that  office  of  Her  Majesty's  Exchequer, 
which  we,  by  a  metaphor,  do  call  the  pipe  ....  because  the  whole  re- 
ceipt is  finally  conveyed  into  it  by  means  of  divers  small  pipes  or  quills. — 
Bacon:  The  Office  of  Alienations." 

[We  are  indebted  to  Richardson's  Dictionary  for  this  fragment  of  erudi- 
tion. But  a  modern  man  of  letters  can  know  little  on  these  points— by  ex- 
perience.] 


194  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

Congreve.^  From  the  beginning  of  his  career  until  the 
end  everybody  admired  him.  Having  got  his  education 
in  Ireland,  at  the  same  school  and  college  with  Swift,  he 
came  to  live  in  the  Middle  Temple,  London,  where  he 
luckily  bestowed  no  attention  to  the  law ;  but  splendidly 
frequented  the  coffee-houses  and  theatres,  and  appeared 
in  the  side-box,  the  tavern,  the  Piazza,  and  the  Mall,  bril- 
liant, beautiful,  and  victorious  from  the  first.  Every- 
body acknowledged  the  young  chieftain.  The  great 
Mr.  Dryden  ^  declared  that  he  was  equal  to  Shakspeare, 
and  bequeathed  to  him  his  own  undisputed  poetical 
crown,  and  writes  of  him:  "  Mr.  Congreve  has  done  me 
the  favour  to  review  the  '^Eneis,'  and  compare  my  ver- 
sion with  the  original.    I  shall  never  be  ashamed  to  own 

*  "  It  has  been  observed  that  no  change  of  Ministers  affected  him  in  the 
least;  nor  was  he  ever  removed  from  any  post  that  was  given  to  him,  except 
to  a  better.  His  place  in  the  Custom  House,  and  his  office  of  Secretary  in 
Jamaica,  are  said  to  have  brought  him  in  upwards  of  twelve  hundred  a  year." 
— Bioff.  Brit.    Art.     Cokgreve. 

^Dryden  addressed  his  "twelfth  epistle"  to  "My  dear  friend,  Mr.  Con- 
greve," on  his  comedy  called  the  "Double  Dealer,"  in  which  he  says: — 

"Great  Jonson  did  by  strength  of  judgment  please; 
Yet,  doubling  Fletcher's  force,  he  wants  his  ease. 
In  differing  talents  both  adorned  their  age: 
One  for  the  study,  t'other  for  the  stage. 
But  both  to  Congreve  justly  shall  submit. 
One  match'd  in  judgment,  both  o'ermatched  in  wit. 
In  him  all  beauties  of  this  age  we  see,"  &c.  &c. 

The  "  Double  Dealer,"  however,  was  not  so  palpable  a  hit  as  the  "  Old  Bach- 
elor," but,  at  first,  met  with  opposition.  The  critics  having  fallen  foul  of  it, 
our  "Swell"  applied  the  scourge  to  that  presumptuous  body,  in  the  "Epistle 
Dedicatory"  to  the  "Right  Honourable  Charles  Montague." 

"I  was  conscious,"  said  he,  "where  a  true  critic  might  have  put  me  upon 
my  defence.  I  was  prepared  for  the  attack,  ....  but  I  have  not 
heard  anything  said  sufficient  to  provoke  an  answer." 

He  goes  on — 

"  But  there  is  one  thing  at  which  I  am  more  concerned  than  all  the  false 
criticisms  that  are  made  upon  me;  and  that  is,  some  of  the  ladies  are  of- 
fended. I  am  heartily  sorry  for  it;  for  I  declare,  I  would  rather  disoblige 
all  the  critics  in  the  world  than  one  of  the  fair  sex.  They  are  concerned  that 
I  have  represented  some  women  vicious  and  affected.  How  can  I  help  it?  It 
is  the  business  of  a  comic  poet  to  paint  the  vices  and  follies  of  human 
kind I  should  be  very  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  make  my  compli- 
ments to  those  ladies  who  are  offended.  But  they  can  no  more  expect  it  in  a 
comedy,  than  to  be  tickled  by  a  surgeon  when  he  is  letting  their  blood." 


CONGREVE   AND   ADDISON  195 

that  this  excellent  young  man  has  showed  me  many  faults 
which  I  have  endeavoured  to  correct." 

The  "  excellent  young  man  "  was  but  three  or  four  and 
twenty  when  the  great  Dryden  thus  spoke  of  him:  the 
greatest  literary  chief  in  England,  the  veteran  field-mar- 
shal of  letters,  himself  the  marked  man  of  all  Europe, 
and  the  centre  of  a  school  of  wits  who  daily  gathered 
round  his  chair  and  tobacco-pipe  at  Will's.  Pope  dedi- 
cated his  "  Iliad  "  to  him ;  ^  Swift,  Addison,  Steele,  all 
acknowledge  Congreve's  rank,  and  lavish  compliments 
upon  him.  Voltaire  went  to  wait  upon  him  as  on  one  of 
the  Representatives  of  Literature;  and  the  man  who 
scarce  praises  any  other  living  person — who  flung  abuse 
at  Pope,  and  Swift,  and  Steele,  and  Addison— the  Grub 
Street  Timon,  old  John  Dennis,^  was  hat  in  hand  to  Mr. 
Congreve ;  and  said  that  when  he  retired  from  the  stage, 
Comedy  went  with  him. 

Nor  was  he  less  victorious  elsewhere.  He  was  admired 
in  the  drawing-rooms  as  well  as  the  coffee-houses;  as 
much  beloved  in  the  side-box  as  on  the  stage.  He  loved, 
and  conquered,  and  jilted  the  beautiful  Bracegirdle,^  the 

* "  Instead  of  endeavouring  to  raise  a  vain  monument  to  myself,  let  me 
leave  behind  me  a  memorial  of  my  friendship  with  one  of  the  most  valuable 
men  as  well  as  finest  writers  of  my  age  and  country— one  who  has  tried,  and 
knows  by  his  own  experience,  how  hard  an  undertaliing  it  is  to  do  justice  to 
Homer— and  one  who,  I  am  sure,  seriously  rejoices  with  me  at  the  period  of 
my  labours.  To  him,  therefore,  having  brought  this  long  work  to  a  conclu- 
sion, I  desire  to  dedicate  it,  and  to  have  the  honour  and  satisfaction  of  plac- 
ing together  in  this  manner  the  names  of  Mr.  Congreve  and  of— A.  Pope." — 
Postscript  to  Translation  of  the  Iliad  of  Homer,  Mar.  25,  1720. 

'  When  asked  why  he  listened  to  the  praises  of  Dennis,  he  said  he  had 
much  rather  be  flattered  than  abused.  Swift  had  a  particular  friendship  for 
our  author,  and  generously  took  him  under  his  protection  in  his  high  au- 
thoritative manner." — Tiios.  Davies:  Dramatic  Miscellanies. 

'  "  Congreve  was  very  intimate  for  years  with  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  and  lived 
in  the  same  street,  his  house  very  near  hers,  until  his  acquaintance  with  the 
young  Duchess  of  Marlborough.  He  then  quitted  that  house.  The  Duchess 
showed  me  a  diamond  necklace  (which  Lady  Di.  used  afterwards  to  wear) 
that  cost  seven  thousand  pounds,  and  was  purchased  with  the  money  Con- 
greve left  her.  How  much  better  would  it  have  been  to  have  given  it  to  poor 
Mrs.  Bracegirdle."— Dr.  Young.    Spence's  Anecdotes. 


196  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

Iieroine  of  all  his  plays,  the  favourite  of  all  the  town  of 
her  day;  and  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough,  INIarlbor- 
ough's  daughter,  had  such  an  admiration  of  him,  that 
when  he  died  she  had  an  ivory  figure  made  to  imitate 
him/  and  a  large  wax  doll  with  gouty  feet  to  be  dressed 
just  as  the  great  Congreve's  gouty  feet  were  dressed  in 
his  great  lifetime.  He  saved  some  money  by  his  Pipe 
Office,  and  his  Custom  House  office,  and  his  Hackney 
Coach  office,  and  nobly  left  it,  not  to  Bracegirdle,  who 
wanted  it,^  but  to  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough,  who 
didn't.^ 

How  can  I  introduce  to  you  that  merry  and  shameless 
Comic  Muse  who  won  him  such  a  reputation?  NeU 
Gwynn's  servant  fought  the  other  footman  for  having 
called  his  mistress  a  bad  name ;  and  in  like  manner,  and 
with  pretty  like  epithets,  Jeremy  Collier  attacked  that 
godless,  reckless  Jezebel,  the  English  comedy  of  his  time, 
and  called  her  what  Nell  Gwynn's  man's  fellow-servants 
called  Nell  Gwynn's  man's  mistress.     The  servants  of 

^ "  A  glass  was  put  in  the  hand  of  the  statue,  which  was  supposed  to  bow  to 
her  Grace  and  to  nod  in  approbation  of  what  she  spoke  to  it."— Thos.  Davies: 
Dramatic  Miscellanies. 

^The  sum  Congreve  left  Mrs.  Bracegirdle  was  200Z.,  as  is  said  in  the 
"Dramatic  Miscellanies"  of  Tom  Davies;  where  are  some  particulars  about 
this  charming  actress  and  beautiful  woman. 

She  had  a  "lively  aspect,"  says  Tom,  on  the  authority  of  Gibber,  and  "such 
a  glow  of  health  and  cheerfulness  in  her  countenance,  as  inspired  everybody 
with  desire."  "Scarce  an  audience  saw  her  that  were  not  half  of  them  her 
lovers." 

Congreve  and  Rowe  courted  her  in  the  persons  of  their  lovers.  "  In  Tam- 
erlane, Rowe  courted  her  Selima,  in  the  person  of  Axalla.  .  .  .  ;  Con- 
greve insinuated  his  addresses  in  his  Valentine  to  her  Angelica,  in  'Love  for 
Love;'  in  his  Osmyn  to  her  Almena,  in  the  'Mourning  Bride;'  and,  lastly, 
in  his  Mirabel  to  her  Millamant,  in  the  'Way  of  the  World.'  Mirabel,  the  fine 
gentleman  of  the  play,  is,  I  believe,  not  very  distant  from  the  real  character 
of  Congreve."  — 7J>rrt7na/rc  Miscellanies,  vol.  iii.  1784. 

She  retired  from  the  stage  when  Mrs.  Oldfield  began  to  be  the  public 
favourite.    She  died  in  1748,  in  the  eighty-fifth  year  of  her  age. 

^  Johnson  calls  his  legacy  the  "  accumulation  of  attentive  parsimony,  which," 
he  continues,  "though  to  "her  (the  Duchess)  superfluous  and  useless,  might 
have  given  great  assistance  to  tlie  ancient  family  from  which  he  descended,  at 
that  time,  by  the  ini])r\ulence  of  his  relation,  reduced  to  difficulties  and  dis- 
tress."—Lires  of  the  Poets. 


CONGREVE   AND   ADDISON  197 

the  theatre,  Dryden,  Congreve,^  and  others,  defended 
themselves  with  the  same  success,  and  for  the  same  cause 
which  set  Nell's  lackey  fighting.  She  was  a  disreputable, 
daring,  laughing,  painted  French  baggage,  that  Comic 
Muse.  She  came  over  from  the  Continent  with  Charles 
(who  chose  many  more  of  his  female  friends  there)  at 
the  Restoration— a  wild,  dishevelled  Lais,  with  eyes 
bright  with  wit  and  wine— a  saucy  court-favourite  that 
sat  at  the  King's  knees,  and  laughed  in  his  face,  and 
when  she  showed  her  bold  cheeks  at  her  chariot-window, 
had  some  of  the  noblest  and  most  famous  people  of  the 
land  bowing  round  her  wheel.  She  was  kind  and  popu- 
lar enough,  that  daring  Comedy,  that  audacious  poor 
Nell:  she  was  gay  and  generous,  kind,  frank,  as  such 
people  can  afford  to  be :  and  the  men  who  lived  with  her 
and  laughed  with  her,  took  her  pay  and  drank  her  wine, 
turned  out  when  the  Puritans  hooted  her,  to  fight  and 
defend  her.  But  the  jade  was  indefensible,  and  it  is 
pretty  certain  her  servants  knew  it. 

There  is  life  and  death  going  on  in  every  thing :  truth 
and  lies  always  at  battle.  Pleasure  is  always  warring 
against  self-restraint.     Doubt  is  always  crying  Psha! 

^  He  replied  to  Collier,  in  the  pamphlet  called  "  Amendments  of  Mr.  Col- 
lier's False  and  Imperfect  Citations,"  &c.  A  specimen  or  two  are  sub- 
joined:— 

"  The  greater  part  of  these  examples  which  he  has  produced  are  only  dem- 
onstrations of  his  own  impurity:  they  only  savour  of  his  utterance,  and  were 
sweet  enough  till  tainted  by  his  breath. 

"Where  the  expression  is  unblameable  in  its  own  pure  and  genuine  signifi- 
cation, he  enters  into  it,  himself,  like  the  evil  spirit;  he  possesses  the  innocent 
phrase,  and  makes  it  bellow  forth  his  own  blasphemies. 

"  If  I  do  not  return  him  civilities  in  calling  him  names,  it  is  because  I  am 
not  very  well  versed  in  his  nomenclatures.  ...  I  will  only  call  him  Mr. 
Collier,  and  that  I  will  call  him  as  often  as  I  think  he  shall  deserve  it. 

"The  corruption  of  a  rotten  divine  is  the  generation  of  a  sour  critic." 

"  Congreve,"  says  Dr.  Johnson,  "  a  very  young  man,  elated  with  success, 
and  impatient  of  censure,  assumed  an  air  of  confidence  and  security.  .  .  . 
The  dispute  was  protracted  through  ten  years;  but  at  last  Comedy  grew 
more  modest,  and  Collier  lived  to  see  the  reward  of  his  labours  in  the  refor- 
mation of  the  theatre." — Life  of  Congreve. 


198  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

and  sneering.  A  man  in  life,  a  humourist,  in  writing 
about  life,  sways  over  to  one  principle  or  the  other,  and 
laughs  with  the  reverence  for  right  and  the  love  of  truth 
in  his  heart,  or  laughs  at  these  from  the  other  side. 
Didn't  I  tell  you  that  dancing  was  a  serious  business  to 
Harlequin?  I  have  read  two  or  three  of  Congreve's 
plays  over  before  speaking  of  him ;  and  my  feelings  were 
rather  like  those,  which  I  dare  say  most  of  us  here  have 
had,  at  Pompeii,  looking  at  Sallust's  house  and  the  relics 
of  an  orgy:  a  dried  wine- jar  or  two,  a  charred  supper- 
table,  the  breast  of  a  dancing-girl  pressed  against  the 
ashes,  the  laughing  skull  of  a  jester:  a  perfect  stillness 
round  about,  as  the  cicerone  twangs  his  moral,  and  the 
blue  sky  shines  calmly  over  the  ruin.  The  Congreve 
Muse  is  dead,  and  her  song  choked  in  Time's  ashes.  We 
gaze  at  the  skeleton,  and  wonder  at  the  life  which  once 
revelled  in  its  mad  veins.  We  take  the  skull  up,  and 
muse  over  the  frolic  and  daring,  the  wit,  scorn,  passion, 
hope,  desire,  with  which  that  empty  bowl  once  fermented. 
We  think  of  the  glances  that  allured,  the  tears  that 
melted,  of  the  bright  eyes  that  shone  in  those  vacant 
sockets;  and  of  lips  whispering  love,  and  cheeks  dimp- 
ling with  smiles,  that  once  covered  yon  ghastly  yellow 
framework.  They  used  to  call  those  teeth  pearls  once. 
Seel  there's  the  cup  she  drank  from,  the  gold-chain  she 
wore  on  her  neck,  the  vase  which  held  the  rouge  for  her 
cheeks,  her  looking-glass,  and  the  harp  she  used  to  dance 
to.  Instead  of  a  feast  we  find  a  gravestone,  and  in  place 
of  a  mistress,  a  few  bones ! 

Reading  in  these  plays  now,  is  like  shutting  your  ears 
and  looking  at  people  dancing.  What  does  it  mean?  the 
measures,  the  grimaces,  the  bowing,  shuffling  and  re- 
treating, the  cavalier  seul  advancing  upon  those  ladies— 


CONGREVE   AND   ADDISON         199 

those  ladies  and  men  twirling  round  at  the  end  in  a  mad 
galop,  after  which  everybody  bows  and  the  quaint  rite  is 
celebrated.  Without  the  music  we  can't  understand  that 
comic  dance  of  the  last  century— its  strange  gravity  and 
gaiety,  its  decorum  or  its  indecorum.  It  has  a  jargon  of 
its  own  quite  unlike  life ;  a  sort  of  moral  of  its  own  quite 
unlike  life  too.  I'm  afraid  it's  a  Heathen  mystery,  sym- 
bolizing a  Pagan  doctrine;  protesting— as  the  Pom- 
peians  very  likely  were,  assembled  at  their  theatre  and 
laughing  at  their  games ;  as  Sallust  and  his  friends,  and 
their  mistresses,  protested,  crowned  with  flowers,  with 
cups  in  their  hands— against  the  new,  hard,  ascetic, 
pleasure-hating  doctrine  whose  gaunt  disciples,  lately 
passed  over  from  the  Asian  shores  of  the  Mediterranean, 
were  for  breaking  the  fair  images  of  Venus  and  flinging 
the  altars  of  Bacchus  down. 

I  fancy  poor  Congreve's  theatre  is  a  temple  of  Pagan 
delights,  and  mysteries  not  permitted  except  among 
heathens.  I  fear  the  theatre  carries  down  that  ancient 
tradition  and  worship,  as  Masons  have  carried  their  secret 
signs  and  rites  from  temple  to  temple.  When  the  hb- 
ertine  hero  carries  off  the  beauty  in  the  play,  and  the 
dotard  is  laughed  to  scorn  for  having  the  young  wife: 
in  the  ballad,  when  the  poet  bids  his  mistress  to  gather 
roses  while  she  may,  and  warns  her  that  old  Time  is  still 
a-flying:  in  the  ballet,  when  honest  Corydon  courts 
Phyllis  under  the  treillage  of  the  pasteboard  cottage,  and 
leers  at  her  over  the  head  of  grandpapa  in  red  stockings, 
who  is  opportunely  asleep ;  and  when  seduced  by  the  in- 
vitations of  the  rosy  youth  she  comes  forward  to  the  foot- 
lights, and  they  perform  on  each  other's  tiptoes  that  pas 
which  you  all  know,  and  which  is  only  interrupted  by 
old  grandpapa  awaking  from  his  doze  at  the  pasteboard 


200  ENGLISH  HUMOURISTS 

chalet  (whither  he  returns  to  take  another  nap  in  case  the 
young  people  get  an  encore)  :  when  Harlequin,  splendid 
in  youth,  strength,  and  agility,  arrayed  in  gold  and  a 
thousand  colours,  springs  over  the  heads  of  countless 
perils,  leaps  down  the  throat  of  bewildered  giants,  and, 
dauntless  and  splendid,  dances  danger  down :  when  Mr. 
Punch,  that  godless  old  rebel,  breaks  every  law  and 
laughs  at  it  with  odious  triumph,  outwits  his  lawyer,  bul- 
lies the  beadle,  knocks  his  wife  about  the  head,  and  hangs 
the  hangman — don't  you  see  in  the  comedy,  in  the  song, 
in  the  dance,  in  the  ragged  little  Punch's  puppet-show— 
the  Pagan  protest?  Doesn't  it  seem  as  if  Life  puts  in  its 
plea  and  sings  its  comment?  Look  how  the  lovers  walk 
and  hold  each  other's  hands  and  whisper!  Sings  the 
chorus—"  There  is  nothing  like  love,  there  is  nothing  like 
youth,  there  is  nothing  like  beauty  of  your  spring-time. 
Look!  how  old  age  tries  to  meddle  with  merry  sport! 
Beat  him  with  his  own  crutch,  the  wrinkled  old  dotard! 
There  is  nothing  like  youth,  there  is  nothing  like  beauty, 
there  is  nothing  like  strength.  Strength  and  valour  win 
beauty  and  youth.  Be  brave  and  conquer.  Be  j^oung 
and  happy.  Enjoy,  enjoy,  enjoy!  Would  you  know 
the  Segreto  per  esser  felice?  Here  it  is,  in  a  smiling  mis- 
tress and  a  cup  of  Falernian."  As  the  boy  tosses  the  cup 
and  sings  his  song— hark!  what  is  that  chaunt  coming- 
nearer  and  nearer?  What  is  that  dirge  which  will  dis- 
turb us?  The  hghts  of  the  festival  burn  dim— the  cheeks 
turn  pale— the  voice  quavers— and  the  cup  drops  on  the 
floor.  Who's  there?  Death  and  Fate  are  at  the  gate, 
and  they  will  come  in. 

Congreve's  comic  feast  flares  with  lights,  and  round 
the  table,  emptying  their  flaming  bowls  of  drink,  and  ex- 
changing the  wildest  jests  and  ribaldry,  sit  men  and 


CONGREVE    AND   ADDISON  201 

women,  waited  on  by  rascally  valets  and  attendants  as 
dissolute  as  their  mistresses— perhaps  the  very  worst 
company  in  the  world.  There  doesn't  seem  to  be  a  pre- 
tence of  morals.  At  the  head  of  the  table  sits  Mirabel 
or  Belmour  (dressed  in  the  French  fashion  and  waited 
on  by  EngHsh  imitators  of  Scapin  and  Frontin) .  Their 
calling  is  to  be  irresistible,  and  to  conquer  everywhere. 
Like  the  heroes  of  the  chivalry  story,  whose  long-winded 
loves  and  combats  they  were  sending  out  of  fashion,  they 
are  always  splendid  and  triumphant— overcome  all  dan- 
gers, vanquish  all  enemies,  and  win  the  beauty  at  the  end. 
Fathers,  husbands,  usurers  are  the  foes  these  champions 
contend  with.  They  are  merciless  in  old  age,  invariably, 
and  an  old  man  plays  the  part  in  the  dramas  which  the 
wicked  enchanter  or  the  great  blundering  giant  per- 
forms in  the  chivalry  tales,  who  threatens  and  grumbles 
and  resists— a  huge  stupid  obstacle  always  overcome  by 
the  knight.  It  is  an  old  man  with  a  money-box:  Sir 
Belmour  his  son  or  nephew  spends  his  money  and  laughs 
at  him.  It  is  an  old  man  with  a  young  wife  whom  he 
locks  up:  Sir  Mirabel  robs  him  of  his  wife,  trips  up  his 
gouty  old  heels  and  leaves  the  old  hunks.  The  old  fool, 
what  business  has  he  to  hoard  his  money,  or  to  lock  up 
blushing  eighteen?  Money  is  for  youth,  love  is  for 
youth,  away  with  the  old  people.  When  Millamant  is 
sixty,  having  of  course  divorced  the  first  Lady  Milla- 
mant, and  married  his  friend  Doricourt's  granddaughter 
out  of  the  nursery— it  will  be  his  turn;  and  young  Bel- 
mour will  make  a  fool  of  him.  All  this  pretty  morality 
you  have  in  the  comedies  of  Wilham  Congreve,  Esq. 
They  are  full  of  wit.  Such  manners  as  he  observes,  he 
observes  with  great  humour ;  but  ah !  it's  a  weary  feast, 
that  banquet  of  wit  where  no  love  is.    It  palls  very  soon ; 


202  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

sad  indigestions  follow  it  and  lonely  blank  headaches  in 
the  morning. 

I  can't  pretend  to  quote  scenes  from  the  splendid  Con- 
greve's  plays  *— which  are  undeniably  bright,  witty,  and 

'The  scene  of  Valentine's  pretended  madness  in  "Love  for  Love"  is  a 
splendid  specimen  of  Congreve's  daring  manner:  — 

" Scandal.— And  have  you  given  your  master  a  hint  of  their  plot  upon  him? 

"Jeremy.— Yes,  Sir;  he  says  he'll  favour  it,  and  mistake  her  for  Angelica. 

"  Scandal  — It  may  make  us  sport. 

" Foresight.— Mercy  on  us! 

"FaZejitine.  —  Husht— interrupt  me  not— I'll  whisper  predictions  to  thee, 
and  thou  shalt  prophesie;— I  am  truth,  and  can  teach  thy  tongue  a  new  trick, 
—I  have  told  thee  what's  passed— now  I'll  tell  what's  to  come:— Dost  thou 
know  what  will  happen  to-morrow?  Answer  me  not  — for  I  will  tell  thee. 
To-morrow  knaves  will  thrive  thro'  craft,  and  fools  thro'  fortune ;  and  honesty 
will  go  as  it  did,  frostnipt  in  a  summer  suit.  Ask  me  questions  concerning 
to-morrow. 

"Scandal.— Ask  him,  Mr.  Foresight. 

"  Foresight.— Fray  what  will  be  done  at  Court? 

"  Valentine.— Scandal  will  tell  you;— I  am  truth,  I  never  come  there. 

" Foresight.— In  the  city? 

"Valentine.  — Oh,  prayers  will  be  said  in  empty  churches  at  the  usual 
hours.  Yet  you  will  see  such  zealous  faces  behind  counters  as  if  religion 
were  to  be  sold  in  every  shop.  Oh,  things  will  go  methodically  in  the  city, 
the  clocks  will  strike  twelve  at  noon,  and  the  horn'd  herd  buzz  in  the  Ex- 
change at  two.  Husbands  and  wives  will  drive  distinct  trades,  and  care  and 
pleasure  separately  occupy  the  family.  Coffee-houses  will  be  full  of  smoke 
and  stratagem.  And  the  cropt  'prentice  that  sweeps  his  master's  shop  in  the 
morning,  may,  ten  to  one,  dirty  his  sheets  before  night.  But  there  are  two 
things,  that  you  will  see  very  strange;  which  are,  wanton  wives  with  their 
legs  at  liberty,  and  tame  cuckolds  with  chains  about  their  necks.  But  hold,  I 
must  examine  you  before  I  go  further;  you  look  suspiciously.  Are  you  a 
husband? 

"  Foresight.— I  am  married. 

"  Valentine.— Poor  creature!     Is  your  wife  of  Covent-garden  Parish? 

"Foresight.— ISio;  St.  Martin's-in-the-Fields. 

"Valentine.— Alas,  poor  man!  his  eyes  are  sunk,  and  his  hands  shrivelled; 
his  legs  dwindled,  and  his  back  bow'd.  Pray,  pray  for  a  metamorphosis- 
change  thy  shape,  and  shake  off  age;  get  thee  Medea's  kettle  and  be  boiled 
anew;  come  forth  with  lab'ring  callous  hands,  and  chine  of  steel,  and  Atlas' 
shoulders.  Let  Taliacotius  trim  the  calves  of  twenty  chairmen,  and  make 
thee  pedestals  to  stand  erect  upon,  and  look  matrimony  in  the  face.  Ha,  ha, 
ha!  That  a  man  should  have  a  stomach  to  a  wedding-supper,  when  the 
pidgeons  ought  rather  to  be  laid  to  his  feet!    Ha,  ha,  ha! 

"  Foresight.— His  frenzy  is  very  high  now,  Mr.  Scandal. 

"Scandal.— I  believe  it  is  a  spring-tide. 

"Foresight.— Wery  likely— truly ;  you  understand  these  matters.  Mr. 
Scandal,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  confer  with  you  about  these  things  he  has 
uttered.    His  sayings  are  very  mysterious  and  hieroglyphical. 

"Valentine.— Oh  \  why  would  Angelica  be  absent  from  my  eyes  so  long? 

"Jeremy.  — She's  here.  Sir. 

"Mrs.  Foresight.— J<iow,  Sister! 

"Mrs.  Frail— O  Lord!  what  must  I  say? 

"  Scandal. —HximouT  him,  Madam,  by  all  means. 


CONGREVE    AND    ADDISON  203 

daring— any  more  than  I  could  ask  you  to  hear  the  dia- 
logue of  a  witty  bargeman  and  a  brilliant  fishwoman  ex- 

" Valentine.— Where  is  she?  Oh!  I  see  her:  she  comes,  like  Riches,  Health, 
and  Liberty  at  once,  to  a  despairing,  starving,  and  abandoned  wretch.  Oh— 
welcome,  welcome ! 

"Mrs.  Frail.— How  d'ye.  Sir?    Can  I  serve  you? 

"  Valentine.— Hark'ee— I  have  a  secret  to  tell  you.  Endymion  and  the 
moon  shall  meet  us  on  Mount  Latmos,  and  we'll  be  married  in  the  dead  of 
night.  But  say  not  a  word.  Hymen  shall  put  his  torch  into  a  dark  lanthorn, 
that  it  may  be  secret;  and  Juno  shall  give  her  peacock  poppy-water,  that  he 
may  fold  his  ogling  tail;  and  Argus's  hundred  eyes  be  shut— ha!  Nobody 
shall  know,  but  Jeremy. 

"Mrs.  Frail— No,  no;  we'll  keep  it  secret;  it  shall  be  done  presently. 

"  Valentine.— The  sooner  the  better.  Jeremy,  come  hither— closer— that 
none  may  overhear  us.  Jeremy,  I  can  tell  you  news:  Angelica  is  turned  nun, 
and  I  am  turning  friar,  and  yet  we'll  marry  one  another  in  spite  of  the  Pope. 
Get  me  a  cowl  and  beads,  that  I  may  play  my  part;  for  she'll  meet  me  two 
hours  hence  in  black  and  white,  and  a  long  veil  to  cover  the  project,  and  we 
won't  see  one  another's  faces  'till  we  have  done  something  to  be  ashamed  of, 
and  then  we'll  blush  once  for  all.  .  .  . 

"  Enter  Tattle. 

"Tattle. — Do  you  know  me,  Valentine? 

"Fa/enh'ne.— You!— who  are  you?    No,  I  hope  not. 

"Tattle.— 1  am  Jack  Tattle,  your  friend. 

"Valentine.— My  friend!  What  to  do?  I  am  no  married  man,  and  thou 
canst  not  lye  with  my  wife;  I  am  very  poor,  and  thou  canst  not  borrow 
money  of  me.    Then,  what  employment  have  I  for  a  friend? 

"  Tattle.— Hahl    A  good  open  speaker,  and  not  to  be  trusted  with  a  secret. 

" Angelica.— Do  you  know  me,  Valentine? 

"  Valentine.— Oh,  very  well. 

" Angelica.— Who  am  I? 

"  Valentine.— You're  a  woman,  one  to  whom  Heaven  gave  beauty  when  it 
grafted  roses  on  a  brier.  You  are  the  reflection  of  Heaven  in  a  pond;  and 
he  that  leaps  at  you  is  sunk.  You  are  all  white— a  sheet  of  spotless  paper- 
when  you  first  are  born;  but  you  are  to  be  scrawled  and  blotted  by  every 
goose's  quill.  I  know  you ;  for  I  loved  a  woman,  and  loved  her  so  long  that  I 
found  out  a  strange  thing:  I  found  out  what  a  woman  was  good  for. 

"Tattle.— Ay \  pr'ythee,  what's  that? 

"  Valentine.— Why,  to  keep  a  secret. 

"Tattle.— O  Lord! 

"  Valentine.— Oh,  exceeding  good  to  keep  a  secret;  for,  though  she  should 
tell,  yet  she  is  not  to  be  believed. 

"Tattle.  — Hahl    Good  again,  faith. 

"Valentine.— I  would  have  musick.  Sing  me  the  song  that  I  like."— Cov- 
GREVEs:  Love  for  Love. 

There  is  a  Mrs.  Nickleby,  of  the  year  1700,  in  Congreve's  Comedy  of  "The 
Double  Dealer,"  in  whose  character  the  author  introduces  some  wonderful 
traits  of  roguish  satire.  She  is  practised  on  by  the  gallants  of  the  play,  and 
no  more  knows  how  to  resist  them  than  any  of  the  ladies  above  quoted  could 
resist  Congreve. 

"  Lady  Plyant. —Oh\  reflect  upon  the  horror  of  your  conduct!  Offering  to 
pervert  me"  [the  joke  is  that  the  gentleman  is  pressing  the  lady  for  her 
daughter's  hand,  not  for  her  own]—"  perverting  me  from  the  road  of  virtue, 
in  which  I  have  trod  thus  long,  and  never  made  one  trip— not  one  faux  pas. 


204.  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

changing  compliments  at  Billingsgate;  but  some  of  his 
verses— they  were  amongst  the  most  famous  lyrics  of  the 
time,  and  pronounced  equal  to  Horace  by  his  contempo- 
raries— may  give  an  idea  of  his  power,  of  his  grace,  of 
his  daring  manner,  his  magnificence  in  compliment,  and 
his  polished  sarcasm.  He  writes  as  if  he  was  so  accus- 
tomed to  conquer,  that  he  has  a  poor  opinion  of  his  vic- 
tims. Nothing's  new  except  their  faces,  says  he:  "  every 
woman  is  the  same."  He  says  this  in  his  first  comedy, 
which  he  wrote  languidly  ^  in  illness,  when  he  was  an 

Oh,  consider  it:  what  would  you  have  to  answer  for,  if  you  should  provoke 
me  to  frailty  !  Alas !  humanity  is  feeble,  heaven  knows !  Very  feeble,  and  un- 
able to  support  itself. 

"  Mellefont.— Where  am  I?     Is  it  day?  and  am  I  awake?    Madam— 

"Lady  Plyant.—O  Lord,  ask  me  the  question!  I'll  swear  I'll  deny  it — 
therefore  don't  ask  me;  nay,  you  shan't  ask  me,  I  swear  I'll  deny  it.  O  Gemini, 
you  have  brought  all  the  blood  into  my  face;  I  warrant  I  am  as  red  as  a 
turkey-cock.    O  fie,  cousin  Mellefont! 

"  Mellefont. — Nay,  Madam,  hear  me;  I  mean — 

"Lady  Plyant.— Hear  you?  No,  no;  I'll  deny  you  first,  and  hear  you 
afterwards.  For  one  does  not  know  how  one's  mind  may  change  upon  hear- 
ing—hearing is  one  of  the  senses,  and  all  the  senses  are  fallible.  I  won't  trust 
my  honour,  I  assure  you;  my  honour  is  infallible  and  uncomatable. 

"  Mellefont. — For  heaven's  sake,  Madam — 

"  Lady  Ply  ant. —Oh,  name  it  no  more.  Bless  me,  how  can  you  talk  of 
heaven,  and  have  so  much  wickedness  in  your  heart?  May  be,  you  don't 
think  it  a  sin.  They  say  some  of  you  gentlemen  don't  think  it  a  sin;  but  still, 
my  honour,  if  it  were  no  sin—  But,  then,  to  marry  my  daughter  for  the 
convenience  of  frequent  opportunities— I'll  never  consent  to  that:  as  sure  as 
can  be,  I'll  break  the  match. 

"  ^/e/Ze/on^.— Death  and  amazement!     Madam,  upon  my  knees— 

"Lady  Plyant. — Nay,  nay,  rise  up!  come,  you  shall  see  my  good-nature.  I 
know  love  is  powerful,  and  nobody  can  help  his  passion.  'Tis  not  your  fault; 
nor  I  swear,  it  is  not  mine.  How  can  I  help  it,  if  I  have  charms?  And  how 
can  you  help  it,  if  you  are  made  a  captive?  I  swear  it  is  pity  it  should  be  a 
fault;  but,  my  honour.  Well,  but  your  honour,  too— but  the  sin!  Well,  but 
the  necessity.  O  Lord,  here's  somebody  coming.  I  dare  not  stay.  Well,  you 
must  consider  of  your  crime;  and  strive  as  much  as  can  be  against  it— strive, 
be  sure;  but  don't  be  melancholick  — don't  despair;  but  never  think  that  I'll 
grant  you  anything.  O  Lord,  no;  but  be  sure  you  lay  aside  all  thoughts  of 
the  marriage,  for  though  I  know  you  don't  love  Cynthia,  only  as  a  blind  to 
your  passion  for  me— yet  it  will  make  me  jealous.  O  Lord,  what  did  I  say? 
Jealous!  No,  no,  I  can't  be  jealous;  for  I  must  not  love  you.  Therefore, 
don't  hope;  but  don't  despair  neither.  Oh,  they're  coming;  I  must  fly."— The 
Double  Dealer:  Act  2,  sc.  v.  page  15(). 

»  "  There  seems  to  be  a  strange  aflfectation  in  authors  of  appearing  to  have 
done  everything  by  chance.  The  '  Old  Bachelor '  was  written  for  amusement 
in  the  languor  of  convalescence.  Yet  it  is  apparently  composed  with  great 
elaborateiu'ss  of  dialogue  and  incessant  ambition  of  wit."— Johnson:  Lives 
of  the  Poets. 


CONGREVE   AND    ADDISON  205 

"  excellent  young  man."  Richelieu  at  eighty  could  have 
hardly  said  a  more  excellent  thing. 

When  he  advances  to  make  one  of  his  conquests,  it 
is  with  a  splendid  gallantry,  in  full  uniform  and  with 
the  fiddles  playing,  like  Grammont's  French  dandies 
attacking  the  breach  of  Lerida. 

"  Cease,  cease  to  ask  her  name,"  he  writes  of  a  young 
lady  at  the  Wells  at  Tunbridge,  whom  he  salutes  with  a 
magnificent  compliment— 

"  Cease,  cease  to  ask  her  name, 
The  crowned  Muse's  noblest  theme, 
Whose  glory  by  immortal  fame 

Shall  only  sounded  be. 
But  if  you  long  to  know, 
Then  look  round  yonder  dazzling  row: 
Who  most  does  like  an  angel  show, 

You  may  be  sure  'tis  she." 

Here  are  lines  about  another  beauty,  who  perhaps  was 
not  so  well  pleased  at  the  poet's  manner  of  celebrating 
her— 

"  When  Lesbia  first  I  saw,  so  heavenly  fair. 
With  eyes  so  bright  and  with  that  awful  air, 
I  thought  my  heart  which  durst  so  high  aspire 
As  bold  as  his  who  snatched  celestial  fire. 
But  soon  as  e'er  the  beauteous  idiot  spoke, 
Forth  from  her  coral  lips  such  folly  broke: 
Like  balm  the  trickling  nonsense  heal'd  my  wound. 
And  what  her  eyes  enthralled,  her  tongue  unbound." 

Amoret  is  a  cleverer  woman  than  the  lovely  Lesbia,  but 
the  poet  does  not  seem  to  respect  one  much  more  than 
the  other;  and  describes  both  with  exquisite  satirical 
huniour— 


206  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

"  Fair  Amoret  is  gone  astray : 

Pursue  and  seek  her  every  lover. 
I'll  tell  the  signs  by  which  you  may 
The  wandering  shepherdess   discover. 

Coquet  and  coy  at  once  her  air, 

Both  studied,  though  both  seem  neglected; 

Careless  she  is  with  artful  care. 
Affecting  to  seem  unaffected. 

With  skill  her  eyes  dart  every  glance, 

Yet  change  so  soon  you'd  ne'er  suspect  them ; 

For  she'd  persuade  they  wound  by  chance. 
Though  certain  aim  and  art  direct  them. 

She  likes  herself,  yet  others  hates 

For  that  which  in  herself  she  prizes ; 

And,  while  she  laughs  at  them,  forgets 
She  is  the  thing  that  she  despises." 

What  could  Amoret  have  done  to  bring  down  such 
shafts  of  ridicule  upon  her?  Could  she  have  resisted 
the  irresistible  Mr.  Congreve?  Could  anybody?  Could 
Sabina,  when  she  woke  and  heard  such  a  bard  singing 
under  her  window?    "  See,"  he  writes— 

"See!  see,  she  wakes — Sabina  wakes! 
And  now  the  sun  begins  to  rise? 
Less  glorious  is  the  morn,  that  breaks 

From  his  bright  beams,  than  her  fair  eyes. 
With  light  united,  day  they  give ; 

But  different  fates  ere  night  fulfil: 
How  many  by  his  warmth  will  live ! 
How  many  will  her  coldness  kill!" 

Are  you  melted?  Don't  you  think  him  a  divine  man? 
If  not  touched  by  the  brilliant  Sabina,  hear  the  devout 
Selinda:— 


CONGREVE    AND    ADDISON  207 

"  Pious  Selinda  goes  to  prayers, 

If  I  but  ask  the  favour ; 
And  yet  the  tender  fool's  in  tears, 

When  she  beheves  I'll  leave  her: 
Would  I  were  free  from  this  restraint, 

Or  else  had  hopes  to  win  her: 
Would  she  could  make  of  me  a  saint. 

Or  I  of  her  a  sinner !  " 

What  a  conquering  air  there  is  about  these!  What 
an  irresistible  Mr.  Congreve  it  is !  Sinner !  of  course  he 
will  be  a  sinner,  the  delightful  rascal!  Win  her!  of 
course  he  will  win  her,  the  victorious  rogue!  He  knows 
he  will:  he  must — with  such  a  grace,  with  such  a  fashion, 
with  such  a  splendid  embroidered  suit.  You  see  him 
with  red-heeled  shoes  deliciously  turned  out,  passing 
a  fair  jewelled  hand  through  his  dishevelled  periwig, 
and  delivering  a  killing  ogle  along  with  his  scented  bil- 
let. And  Sabina?  What  a  comparison  that  is  between 
the  nymph  and  the  sun!  The  sun  gives  Sabina  the 
pas,  and  does  not  venture  to  rise  before  her  ladyship: 
the  morn's  bright  teams  are  less  glorious  than  her  fair 
eyes:  but  before  night  everybody  will  be  frozen  by  her 
glances:  everybody  but  one  lucky  rogue  who  shall  be 
nameless.  Louis  Quatorze  in  all  his  glory  is  hardly 
more  splendid  than  our  Phoebus  Apollo  of  the  Mall  and 
Spring  Gardens.^ 

When  Voltaire  came  to  visit  the  great  Congreve,  the 

1 "  Among  those  by  whom  it  ('  Will's')  was  frequented,  Southerne  and  Con- 
greve were  principally  distinguished  by  Dryden's  friendship.  .  .  .  But  Con- 
greve seems  to  have  gained  yet  farther  than  Southerne  upon  Dryden's  friend- 
ship. He  was  introduced  to  him  by  his  first  play,  the  celebrated  'Old 
Bachelor '  being  put  into  the  poet's  hands  to  be  revised.  Drj'den,  after 
making  a  few  alterations  to  fit  it  for  the  stage,  returned  it  to  the  author  with 
the  high  and  just  commendation,  that  it  was  the  best  first  play  he  had  ever 
seen."— Scott's  Dryden,  vol.  i.  p.  370. 


208  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

latter  rather  affected  to  despise  his  literary  reputation, 
and  in  this  perhaps  the  great  Congreve  was  not  far 
wrong.^  A  touch  of  Steele's  tenderness  is  worth  all  his 
finery ;  a  flash  of  Swift's  lightning,  a  beam  of  Addison's 
pure  sunshine,  and  his  tawdry  playhouse  taper  is  in- 
visible. But  the  ladies  loved  him,  and  he  was  undoubt- 
edly a  pretty  fellow.^ 

*  It  was  in  Surrey  Street,  Strand,  (where  he  afterwards  died,)  that  Voltaire 
visited  him,  in  the  "decline  of  his  life. 

The  anecdote  relating  to  his  saying  that  he  wished  "  to  be  visited  on  no 
other  footing  than  as  a  gentleman  who  led  a  life  of  plainness  and  simplicity," 
is  common  to  all  writers  on  the  subject  of  Congreve,  and  appears  in  the 
English  version  of  Voltaire's  "  Letters  concerning  the  English  Nation,"  pub- 
lished in  London,  1733,  as  also  in  Goldsmith's  "Memoir  of  Voltaire."  But  it 
is  worthy  of  remarlt,  that  it  does  not  appear  in  the  text  of  the  same  Letters 
in  the  edition  of  Voltaire's  "  CEuvres  Completes "  in  the  "  Pantheon  Lit- 
t^raire."     Vol.  v.  of  his  worlds.     (Paris,  1837.) 

"  Celui  de  tous  les  Anglais  qui  a  porte  le  plus  loin  la  gloire  du  theatre 
comique  est  feu  M.  Congreve.  II  n'a  fait  que  peu  de  pieces,  mais  toutes  sont 
excellentes  dans  leur  genre.  .  .  .  Vous  y  voyez  partout  le  langage  des  hon- 
netes  gens  avec  des  actions  de  fripon;  ce  qui  prouve  qu'il  connaissait  bien 
son  monde,  et  qu'il  vivait  dans  ce  qu'on  appelle  la  bonne  compagnie."— Vol- 
taire: Lettres  sur  les  Anglais.    Let.  19. 

'  On  the  death  of  Queen  Mary  he  published  a  Pastoral—"  The  Mourning 
Muse  of  Alexis."  Alexis  and  Menalcas  sing  alternately  in  the  orthodox  way. 
The  Queen  is  called  Pastoka. 

"  I  mourn  Pastora  dead,  let  Albion  mourn, 
And  sable  clouds  her  challty  cliffs  adorn," 

says  Alexis.    Among  other  phenomena,  we  learn  that — 

"  With  their  sharp  nails  themselves  the  Satyrs  wound. 
And  tug  their  shaggy  beards,  and  bite  with  grief  the  ground  "— 

(a  degree  of  sensibility  not  always  found  in  the  Satyrs  of  that  period).  .  .  . 
It  continues — 

"  Lord  of  these  woods  and  wide  extended  plains, 

Stretch'd  on  the  ground  and  close  to  earth  his  face. 

Scalding  with  tears  the  already  faded  grass. 

«  *  ♦  *  • 

To  dust  must  all  that  Heavenly  beauty  come? 

And  must  Pastora  moulder  in  the  tomb? 

Ah  Death !  more  fierce  and  unrelenting  far 

Than  wildest  wolves  or  savage  tigers  are; 

With  lambs  and  sheep  their  hungers  are  appeased, 

But  ravenous  Death  the  shepherdess  has  seized." 

This  statement  that  a  wolf  eats  but  a  sheep,  whilst  Death  eats  a  Shepherdess 
—that  figure  of  the  "  Great  Shepherd  "  lying  speechless  on  his  stomach,  in 
a  state  of  despair  which  neither  winds  nor  floods  nor  air  can  exhibit— are  to 
be  remembered  in  poetry  surely:  and  this  style  was  admired  in  its  time  by  the 
admirers  of  the  great  Congreve ! 


CONGREVE    AND    ADDISON  209 

We  have  seen  in  Swift  a  humourous  philosopher, 
whose  truth  frightens  one,  and  whose  laughter  makes  one 
melancholy.  We  have  had  in  Congreve  a  humourous  ob- 
server of  another  school,  to  whom  the  world  seems  to 
have  no  moral  at  all,  and  whose  ghastly  doctrine  seems 
to  be  that  we  should  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry  when  we 
can,  and  go  to  the  deuce  (if  there  be  a  deuce)  when  the 
time  comes.    We  come  now  to  a  humour  that  flows  from 


In  the  "  Tears  of  Amaryllis  for  Amyntas  "  (the  young  Lord  Bland  ford, 
the  great  Duke  of  Marlborough's  only  son),  Amaryllis  represents  Sarah 
Duchess! 

The  tigers  and  wolves,  nature  and  motion,  rivers  and  echoes,  come  mto 
work  here  again.    At  the  sight  of  her  grief— 

"  Tigers  and  wolves  their  wonted  rage  forego. 
And  dumb  distress  and  new  compassion  show, 
Nature  herself  attentive  silence  kept, 
And  motion  seemed  suspended  while  she  wept!  " 

And  Pope  dedicated  the  "  Iliad  "  to  the  author  of  these  lines— and  Dryden 
wrote  to  him  in  his  great  hand : 

"  Time,  place,  and  action  may  with  pains  be  wrought, 

But  Genius  must  be  born  and  never  can  be  taught. 

This  is  your  portion,  this  your  native  store; 

Heaven,  that  but  once  was  prodigal  before, 

To  Shakspeare  gave  as  much  she  could  not  give  him  more. 
Maintain  your  Post :  that's  ail  the  fame  you  need. 

For  'tis  impossible  you  should  proceed; 

Already  I  am  worn  with  cares  and  age. 

And  just  abandoning  th'  ungrateful  stage: 

Unprofitably  kept  at  Heaven's  expence, 

I  live  a  Rent-charge  upon  Providence: 

But  you,  whom  every  Muse  and  Grace  adorn, 

Whom  I  foresee  to  better  fortune  born. 

Be  kind  to  my  remains,  and  oh!  defend 

Against  your  Judgment  your  departed  Friend! 

Let  not  the  insulting  Foe  my  Fame  pursue; 

But  shade  those  Lawrels  which  descend  to  You: 

And  take  for  Tribute  what  these  Lines  express; 

You  merit  more,  nor  could  my  Love  do  less." 

This  is  a  very  different  manner  of  welcome  to  that  of  our  own  day.  In 
Shadwell,  Higgons,  Congreve,  and  the  comic  authors  of  their  time,  when 
gentlemen  meet  they  fall  into  each  other's  arms,  with  "  Jack,  Jack,  I  must 
buss  thee;"  or,  "Fore  George,  Harry,  I  must  kiss  thee,  lad."  And  in  a 
similar  manner  the  poets  saluted  their  brethren.  Literary  gentlemen  do  not 
kiss  now;  I  wonder  if  they  love  each  other  better? 

Steele  calls  Congreve  "Great  Sir"  and  "Great  Author;"  says  "Well- 
dressed  barbarians  knew  his  awful  name,"  and  addresses  him  as  if  he  were 
a  prince;  and  speaks  of  "  Pastora  "  as  one  of  the  most  famous  tragic  com- 
positions. 


210  ENGLISH  HUMOURISTS 

quite  a  diiFerent  heart  and  spirit— a  wit  that  makes  us 
laugh  and  leaves  us  good  and  happy ;  to  one  of  the  kind- 
est benefactors  that  society  has  ever  had;  and  I  believe 
you  have  divined  already  that  I  am  about  to  mention 
Addison's  honoured  name. 

From  reading  over  his  writings,  and  the  biographies 
which  we  have  of  him,  amongst  which  the  famous  ar- 
ticle in  the  Edinburgh  Review  ^  may  be  cited  as  a  mag- 
nificent statue  of  the  great  writer  and  moralist  of  the 
last  age,  raised  by  the  love  and  the  marvellous  skill  and 
genius  of  one  of  the  most  illustrious  artists  of  our  own ; 
looking  at  that  cakn,  fair  face,  and  clear  countenance— 
those  chiselled  features  pure  and  cold,  I  can't  but  fancy 
that  this  great  man— in  this  respect,  like  him  of  whom 
we  spoke  in  the  last  lecture— was  also  one  of  the  lonely 
ones  of  the  world.  Such  men  have  very  few  equals,  and 
they  don't  herd  with  those.  It  is  in  the  nature  of  such 
lords  of  intellect  to  be  solitary— they  are  in  the  world 
but  not  of  it ;  and  our  minor  struggles,  brawls,  successes, 
pass  under  them. 

Kind,  just,  serene,  impartial,  his  fortitude  not  tried 
bej^ond  easy  endurance,  his  affections  not  much  used, 
for  his  books  were  his  family,  and  his  society  was  in 
public;  admirabl}'^  wiser,  wittier,  calmer,  and  more  in- 

* "  To  Addison  himself  we  are  bound  by  a  sentiment  as  much  like  affection 
as  any  sentiment  can  be  which  is  inspired  by  one  who  has  been  sleeping  a 
hundred  and  twenty  years  in  Westminster  Abbey.  .  .  .  After  full  inquiry 
and  impartial  reflection  we  have  long  been  convinced  that  he  deserved  as 
much  love  and  esteem  as  can  justly  be  claimed  by  any  of  our  infirm  and 
erring  race." — Macaulay. 

"  Many  who  praise  virtue  do  no  more  than  praise  it.  Yet  it  is  reasonable 
to  believe  that  Addison's  profession  and  practice  were  at  no  great  variance; 
since,  amidst  that  storm  of  faction  in  which  most  of  his  life  was  passed, 
though  his  station  made  him  conspicuous,  and  his  activity  made  him  formi- 
dable, the  character  given  him  by  his  friends  was  never  contradicted  by  his 
enemies.  Of  those  with  whom  interest  or  opinion  united  him,  he  had  not  only 
the  esteem  but  the  kindness;  and  of  others,  whom  the  violence  of  opposition 
drove  against  him,  tliough  he  might  lose  the  love,  he  retained  the  reverence." 

— JOHKSOX. 


CONGREVE    AND    ADDISON  211 

structed  than  almost  every  man  with  whom  he  met,  how 
could  Addison  suffer,  desire,  admire,  feel  much?  I  may 
expect  a  child  to  admire  me  for  being  taller  or  writing 
more  cleverly  than  she;  but  how  can  I  ask  my  superior 
to  say  that  I  am  a  wonder  when  he  knows  better  than  I  ? 
In  Addison's  days  you  could  scarcely  show  him  a  liter- 
ary performance,  a  sermon,  or  a  poem,  or  a  piece  of 
literary  criticism,  but  he  felt  he  could  do  better.  His 
justice  must  have  made  him  indifferent.  He  didn't 
praise,  because  he  measured  his  compeers  by  a  higher 
standard  than  common  people  have.*  How  was  he  who 
was  so  tall  to  look  up  to  any  but  the  loftiest  genius? 
He  must  have  stooped  to  put  himself  on  a  level  with 
most  men.  By  that  profusion  of  graciousness  and 
smiles  with  which  Goethe  or  Scott,  for  instance,  greeted 
almost  every  literary  beginner,  every  small  literary  ad- 
venturer who  came  to  his  court  and  went  away  charmed 
from  the  great  king's  audience,  and  cuddling  to  his 
heart  the  compliment  which  his  literary  majesty  had 
paid  him— each  of  the  two  good-natured  potentates  of 
letters  brought  their  star  and  riband  into  discredit. 
Everybody  had  his  majesty's  orders.  Everybody  had 
his  majesty's  cheap  portrait,  on  a  box  surrounded  with 
diamonds  worth  twopence  apiece.  A  very  great  and 
just  and  wise  man  ought  not  to  praise  indiscriminately, 
but  give  his  idea  of  the  truth.  Addison  praises  the  in- 
genious Mr.  Pinkethman :  Addison  praises  the  ingenious 
Mr.  Doggett,  the  actor,  whose  benefit  is  coming  off  that 
night :    Addison  praises  Don  Saltero :    Addison  praises 

^ "  Addison  was  perfect  good  company  with  intimates,  and  had  something 
more  charming  in  his  conversation  than  I  ever  knew  in  any  other  man;  but 
with  any  mixture  of  strangers,  and  sometimes  only  with  one,  he  seemed  to 
preserve  his  dignity  much,  with  a  stiff  sort  of  silence." — Pope.  Spence's 
Anecdotes. 


212  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

^lilton  with  all  his  heart,  bends  his  knee  and  frankly 
pays  homage  to  that  imperial  genius/  But  between 
those  degrees  of  his  men  his  praise  is  very  scanty.  I 
don't  think  the  great  Mr.  Addison  liked  young  Mr.  Pope, 
the  Papist,  much ;  I  don't  think  he  abused  him.  But  when 
Mr.  Addison's  men  abused  Mr.  Pope,  I  don't  think 
Addison  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  to  contradict 
them.^ 

Addison's  father  was  a  clergyman  of  good  repute  in 
Wiltshire,  and  rose  in  the  church.^  His  famous  son 
never  lost  his  clerical  training  and  scholastic  gravity,  and 
was  called  "  a  parson  in  a  tye-wig  "  ^  in  London  af  ter- 

' "  Milton's  chief  talent,  and  indeed  his  distinguishing  excellence,  lies  in 
the  sublimity  of  his  thoughts.  There  are  others  of  the  moderns,  who  rival 
him  in  every  other  part  of  poetry;  but  in  the  greatness  of  his  sentiments  he 
triumphs  over  all  the  poets,  both  modern  and  ancient.  Homer  only  excepted. 
It  is  impossible  for  the  imagination  of  man  to  distend  itself  with  greater 
ideas  than  those  which  he  has  laid  together  in  his  first,  second,  and  sixth 
hooks'' —Spectator ,  No.  279. 

"  If  I  were  to  name  a  poet  that  is  a  perfect  master  in  all  these  arts  of 
working  on  the  imagination,  I  think  Milton  may  pass  for  one."— /bid.  No.  417. 

These  famous  papers  appeared  in  each  Saturday's  Spectator,  from  Janu- 
ary 19th  to  May  3rd,  1712.  Beside  his  services  to  Milton,  we  may  place  those 
he  did  to  Sacred  Music. 

* "  Addison  was  very  kind  to  me  at  first,  but  my  bitter  enemy  afterwards." 
— Pope.     Spence's  Anecdotes. 

"'Leave  him  as  soon  as  you  can,'  said  Addison  to  me,  speaking  of  Pope; 
'he  will  certainly  play  you  some  devilish  trick  else:  he  has  an  appetite  to 
satire.'" — Lady  Wortley  Montagu.     Spence's  Anecdotes. 

^  Lancelot  Addison,  his  father,  was  the  son  of  another  I^ancelot  Addison, 
a  clergyman  in  Westmoreland.  He  became  Dean  of  Lichfield  and  Arch- 
deacon of  Coventry. 

* "  The  remark  of  Mandeville,  who,  when  he  had  passed  an  evening  in 
his  company,  declared  that  he  was  '  a  parson  in  a  tye-wig,'  can  detract  little 
from  his  character.  He  was  always  reserved  to  strangers,  and  was  not  in- 
cited to  uncommon  freedom  by  a  character  like  that  of  Mandeville."— 
Joiixsok:  Lives  of  the  Poets. 

"Old  Jacob  Tonson  did  not  like  Mr.  Addison:  he  had  a  quarrel  with  him, 
and,  after  his  quitting  the  secretaryship,  used  frequently  to  say  of  him  — 
'  One  day  or  other  you'll  see  that  man  a  bishop— I'm  sure  he  looks  that  way; 
and  indeed  I  ever  thought  him  a  priest  in  his  heart.'  "—Pope.  Spence's 
Anecdotes. 

"  Mr.  Addison  stayed  above  a  year  at  Blois.  He  would  rise  as  early  as 
between  two  and  three  in  the  height  of  summer,  and  lie  abed  till  between 
eleven  and  twelve  in  the  depth  of  winter.  He  was  untalkative  whilst  here, 
and  often  thoughtful:  sometimes  so  lost  in  thought,  that  1  have  come  into 
his  room  and  stayed  five  minutes  there  before  he  has  known  anything  of  it. 
He  had  his  masters  generally  at  supper  with  him;  kept  very  little  company 


CONGREVE   AND   ADDISON  213 

wards  at  a  time  when  tye-wigs  were  only  worn  by  the 
laity,  and  the  fathers  of  theology  did  not  think  it  decent 
to  appear  except  in  a  full  bottom.  Having  been  at 
school  at  Salisbury,  and  the  Charterhouse,  in  1G87,  when 
he  was  fifteen  years  old,  he  went  to  Queen's  College,  Ox- 
ford, where  he  speedily  began  to  distinguish  himself  by 
the  making  of  Latin  verses.  The  beautiful  and  fanciful 
poem  of  "  The  Pigmies  and  the  Cranes,"  is  still  read  by 
lovers  of  that  sort  of  exercise;  and  verses  are  extant  in 
honour  of  King  William,  by  which  it  appears  that  it  was 
the  loyal  youth's  custom  to  toast  that  sovereign  in  bum- 
pers of  purple  Lygeus :  many  more  works  are  in  the  Col- 
lection, including  one  on  the  Peace  of  Ryswick,  in  1697, 
which  was  so  good  that  Montague  got  him  a  pension  of 
300Z.  a  year,  on  which  Addison  set  out  on  his  travels. 

During  his  ten  years  at  Oxford,  Addison  had  deeply 
imbued  himself  with  the  Latin  poetical  literature,  and 
had  these  poets  at  his  fingers'  ends  when  he  travelled  in 
Italy.^  His  patron  went  out  of  office,  and  his  pension 
was  unpaid:  and  hearing  that  this  great  scholar,  now 
eminent  and  known  to  the  literati  of  Europe  (the  great 
Boileau,^  upon  perusal  of  Mr.  Addison's  elegant  hexam- 
eters, was  first  made  aware  that  England  was  not  alto- 
gether a  barbarous  nation)  —hearing  that  the  celebrated 
Mr.  Addison,  of  Oxford,  proposed  to  travel  as  governor 
to  a  young  gentleman  on  the  grand  tour,  the  great  Duke 
of  Somerset  proposed  to  Mr.  Addison  to  accompany  his 
son,  Lord  Hartford. 

beside;  and  had  no  amour  that  I  know  of;  and  I  think  I  should  have  known 
it  if  he  had  had  any."— Abbe  Philippeaux  of  Blois.     Spenre's  Anecdotes. 

1  His  knowledge  of  the  Latin  poets,  from  Lucretius  and  Catullus  down  to 
Claudian  and  Prudentius,  was  singularlj'  exact  and  profound."— Macaulay. 

' "  Our  country  owes  it  to  him,  that  the  famous  Monsieur  Boileau  first  con- 
ceived an  opinion  of  the  English  genius  for  poetry,  by  perusing  the  present 
he  made  him  of  the  '  Musae  Anglicanas.'"— Tickell:  Preface  to  Addison's 
Works. 


214  ENGLISH  HUMOURISTS 

Mr.  Addison  was  delighted  to  be  of  use  to  his  Grace, 
and  his  lordship  his  Grace's  son,  and  expressed  himself 
ready  to  set  forth. 

His  Grace  the  Duke  of  Somerset  now  announced  to 
one  of  the  most  famous  scholars  of  Oxford  and  Europe 
that  it  was  his  gracious  intention  to  allow  my  Lord  Hart- 
ford's tutor  one  hundred  guineas  per  annum.  Mr.  Ad- 
dison wrote  back  that  his  services  were  his  Grace's,  but 
he  by  no  means  found  his  account  in  the  recompence 
for  them.  The  negotiation  was  broken  off.  They 
parted  with  a  profusion  of  congees  on  one  side  and  the 
other. 

Addison  remained  abroad  for  some  time,  living  in  the 
best  society  of  Europe.  How  could  he  do  otherwise? 
He  must  have  been  one  of  the  finest  gentlemen  the  world 
ever  saw:  at  all  moments  of  life  serene  and  courteous, 
cheerful  and  calm.^  He  could  scarcely  ever  have  had  a 
degrading  thought.  He  might  have  omitted  a  virtue  or 
two,  or  many,  but  could  not  have  had  many  faults  com- 
mitted for  which  he  need  blush  or  turn  pale.  When 
warmed  into  confidence,  his  conversation  appears  to  have 
been  so  delightful  that  the  greatest  wits  sat  rapt  and 
charmed  to  listen  to  him.  No  man  bore  poverty  and  nar- 
row fortune  with  a  more  lofty  cheerfulness.  His  letters 
to  his  friends  at  this  period  of  his  life,  when  he  had  lost 
his  Government  pension  and  given  up  his  college 
chances,  are  full  of  courage  and  a  gay  confidence  and 
philosophy:  and  they  are  none  the  worse  in  my  eyes,  and 
I  hope  not  in  those  of  his  last  and  greatest  biographer 
(though  Mr.  Macaulay  is  bound  to  own  and  lament  a 

»  "  It  was  my  fate  to  be  miich  with  the  wits;  my  father  was  acquainted 
with  all  of  them.  Addixnn  vuis  the  he»l  company  in' the  world.  I  never  knew 
anybody  that  had  so  much  wit  as  Congreve."— Lady  Wortley  Montagu. 
Spence's  Anecdotes. 


CONGREVE    AND    ADDISON  215 

certain  weakness  for  wine,  which  the  great  and  good 
Joseph  Addison  notoriously  possessed,  in  common  with 
countless  gentlemen  of  his  time),  because  some  of  the 
letters  are  written  when  his  honest  hand  was  shaking  a 
little  in  the  morning  after  libations  to  purple  Lyaeus 
over-night.  He  was  fond  of  drinking  the  healths  of  his 
friends:  he  writes  to  Wyche,'  of  Hamburg,  gratefully 
remembering  Wyche's  "  hoc."  "  I  have  been  drinking 
your  health  to-day  with  Sir  Richard  Shirley,"  he  writes 
to  Bathurst.  "  I  have  lately  had  the  honour  to  meet  my 
Lord  Effingham  at  Amsterdam,  where  we  have  drunk 
Mr.  Wood's  health  a  hundred  times  in  excellent  cham- 
pagne," he  writes  again.    Swift  ^  describes  him  over  his 

'  "  Mr.  Addison  to  Mr.  Wyche. 
"  Dear  Sir, 

"  My  hand  at  present  begins  to  grow  steady  enough  for  a  letter,  so  the 
properest  use  I  can  put  it  to  is  to  thank  ye  honest  gentleman  that  set  it  a 
shaking.  I  have  had  this  morning  a  desperate  design  in  my  head  to  attack 
you  in  verse,  which  I  should  certainly  have  done  could  I  have  found  out  a 
rhyme  to  rummer.  But  though  you  have  escaped  for  ye  present,  you  are  not 
yet  out  of  danger,  if  I  can  a  little  recover  my  talent  at  crambo.  I  am  sure, 
in  whatever  way  I  write  to  you,  it  will  be  impossible  for  me  to  express  ye 
deep  sense  I  have  of  ye  many  favours  you  have  lately  shown  me.  I  shall 
only  tell  you  that  Hambourg  has  been  the  pleasantest  stage  I  have  met  with 
in  my  travails.  If  any  of  my  friends  wonder  at  me  for  living  so  long  in  that 
place,  I  dare  say  it  will  be  thought  a  very  good  excuse  when  I  tell  him  Mr. 
Wyche  was  there.  As  your  company  made  our  stay  at  Hambourg  agreeable, 
your  wine  has  given  us  all  ye  satisfaction  that  we  have  found  in  our  journey 
through  Westphalia.  If  drinking  your  health  will  do  you  any  good,  you  may 
expect  to  be  as  long-lived  as  Methuselah,  or,  to  use  a  more  familiar  instance, 
as  ye  oldest  hoc  in  ye  cellar.  I  hope  ye  two  pair  of  legs  that  was  left  a 
swelling  behind  us  are  by  this  time  come  to  their  shapes  again.  I  can't  for- 
bear troubling  you  with  my  hearty  respects  to  ye  owners  of  them,  and  de- 
siring you  to  believe  me  always, 

^^  "  Dear  Sir, 

"  Yours,"  &c. 
"  To  Mr.  Wyche,  His  Majesty's  Resident  at  Hambourg, 

"  May,  1703." 
—From  the  Life  of  Addison,  by  Miss  Aikik.     Vol.  i.  p.  146. 

^  It  is  pleasing  to  remember  that  the  relation  between  Swift  and  Addison 
was,  on  the  whole,  satisfactory  from  first  to  last.  The  value  of  Swift's  tes- 
timony, when  nothing  personal  inflamed  his  vision  or  warped  his  judgment, 
can  be  doubted  by  nobody. 

"  Sept.  10,  1710.  — I  sat  till  ten  in  the  evening  with  Addison  and  Steele. 

"  11.— Mr.  Addison  and  I  dined  together  at  his  lodgings,  and  I  sat  with 
him  part  of  this  evening. 

"  18.— To-day   1   dined  with  Mr.   Stratford   at   Mr.   Addison's  retirement 


216  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

cups,  when  Joseph  yielded  to  a  temptation  which  Jona- 
than resisted.  Joseph  was  of  a  cold  nature,  and  needed 
perhaps  the  fire  of  wine  to  warm  his  blood.  If  he  was  a 
parson,  he  wore  a  tye-wig,  recollect.  A  better  and  more 
Christian  man  scarcely  ever  breathed  than  Joseph  Ad- 
dison. If  he  had  not  that  little  weakness  for  wine — why, 
we  could  scarcely  have  found  a  fault  with  him,  and  could 
not  have  liked  him  as  we  do.^ 

At  thirty-three  years  of  age,  this  most  distinguished 
wit,  scholar,  and  gentleman  was  without  a  profession 
and  an  income.  His  book  of  "  Travels  "  had  failed:  his 
"Dialogues  on  Medals"  had  had  no  particular  success: 
his  Latin  verses,  even  though  reported  the  best  since  Vir- 
gil, or  Statins  at  any  rate,  had  not  brought  him  a  Gov- 
ernment place,  and  Addison  was  living  up  three  shabby 
pair  of  stairs  in  the  Haymarket  (in  a  poverty  over  which 
old  Samuel  Johnson  rather  chuckles),  when  in  these 
shabby  rooms  an  emissary  from  Government  and  For- 

near  Chelsea I  will  get  what  good  offices  I  can  from  Mr.  Addi- 

Bon. 

"  27.— To-day  all  our  company  dined  at  Will  Frankland's,  with  Steele 
and  Addison,  too. 

"29.— I  dined  with  Mr.  Addison,"  kc— Journal  to  Stella. 

Addison  inscribed  a  presentation  copy  of  his  Travels  "  To  Dr.  Jonathan 
Swift,  the  most  agreeable  companion,  the  truest  friend,  and  the  greatest 
genius  of  his  age."— (Scott.  From  the  information  of  Mr.  Theophilus 
Swift.) 

"Mr.  Addison,  who  goes  over  first  secretary,  is  a  most  excellent  person; 
and  being  my  most  intimate  friend,  I  shall  use  all  my  credit  to  set  him 
right  in  his  notions  of  persons  and  things."  —  Letters. 

"  I  examine  my  heart,  and  can  find  no  other  reason  why  I  write  to  you 
now,  besides  that  great  love  and  esteem  1  have  always  had  for  you.  I  have 
nothing  to  ask  you  either  for  my  friend  or  for  myself."  — Swift  to  Addison 
(1717).     Scott's  Su-ift.     Vol.  xix.  p.  274. 

Political  differences  only  dulled  for  a  while  their  friendly  communications. 
Time  renewed  them:  and  Tickell  enjoyed  Swift's  friendship  as  a  legacy  from 
the  man  with  whose  memory  his  is  so  honourably  connected. 

'"Addison  usually  studied  all  the  morning;  then  met  his  party  at  But- 
ton's; dined  there,  and  stayed  five  or  six  hours,  and  sometimes  far  into  the 
night.  I  was  of  the  company  for  about  a  year,  but  found  it  too  much  for 
me:  it  hurt  my  health,  and  so  I  quitted  it."— Pope.     Spence's  Anecdotes. 


CONGREVE    AND    ADDISON  217 

tune  came  and  found  him.^  A  poem  was  wanted  about 
the  Duke  of  Marlborough's  victory  of  Blenheim. 
Would  IMr.  Addison  write  one?  jNIr.  Boyle,  afterwards 
Lord  Carleton,  took  back  the  reply  to  the  Lord  Treas- 
urer Godolphin,  that  Mr.  Addison  would.  When  the 
poem  had  reached  a  certain  stage,  it  was  carried  to 
Godolphin ;  and  the  last  lines  which  he  read  were  these : — 

"  But,  O  my  Muse !   what  numbers  wilt  thou  find 
To  sing  the  furious  troops  in  battle  join'd? 
Methinks  I  hear  the  drum's  tumultuous  sound 
The  victor's  shouts  and  dying  groans  confound; 
The  dreadful  burst  of  cannon  rend  the  skies, 
And  all  the  thunder  of  the  battle  rise. 
'Twas  then  great  Marlborough's  mighty  soul  was  proved, 
That,  in  the  shock  of  charging  hosts  unmoved. 
Amidst  confusion,  horror,  and  despair. 
Examined  all  the  dreadful  scenes  of  war : 
In  peaceful  thought  the  field  of  death  surveyed, 
To  fainting  squadrons  sent  the  timely  aid, 
Inspired  repulsed  battalions  to  engage, 
And  taught  the  doubtful  battle  where  to  rage. 
So  when  an  angel,  by  divine  command. 
With  rising  tempests  shakes  a  guilty  land 
(Such  as  of  late  o'er  pale  Britannia  passed), 
Calm  and  serene  he  drives  the  furious  blast; 
And,  pleased  the  Almighty's  orders  to  perform. 
Rides  in  the  whirlwind  and  directs  the  storm." 

Addison  left  off  at  a  good  moment.    That  simile  was 
pronounced  to   be   of  the   greatest   ever   produced   in 

* "  W^hen  he  returned  to  England  (in  1702),  with  a  meanness  of  appear- 
ance which  gave  testimony  of  the  difficulties  to  which  he  had  been  reduced, 
he  found  his  old  patrons  out  of  power,  and  was,  therefore,  for  a  time,  at  full 
leisure  for  the  cultivation  of  his  mind."— Johnsok:  Lives  of  the  Poets. 


218  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

poetrj^  That  angel,  that  good  angel,  flew  off  with  Mr. 
Addison,  and  landed  him  in  the  place  of  Commissioner 
of  Appeals — vice  Mr.  Locke  providentially  promoted. 
In  the  following  year  Mr.  Addison  went  to  Hanover 
with  Lord  Halifax,  and  the  year  after  was  made  Under 
Secretary  of  State.  O  angel  visits!  you  come  "  few  and 
far  between"  to  literary  gentlemen's  lodgings!  Your 
wings  seldom  quiver  at  second-floor  windows  now ! 

You  laugh?  You  think  it  is  in  the  power  of  few 
writers  now-a-days  to  call  up  such  an  angel?  Well,  per- 
haps not;  but  permit  us  to  comfort  ourselves  by  jioint- 
ing  out  that  there  are  in  the  poem  of  the  "  Campaign  " 
some  as  bad  lines  as  heart  can  desire:  and  to  hint  that 
Mr.  Addison  did  very  wisely  in  not  going  further  with 
my  Lord  Godolphin  than  that  angelical  simile.  Do  allow 
me,  just  for  a  little  harmless  mischief,  to  read  you  some 
of  the  lines  which  follow.  Here  is  the  interview  between 
the  Duke  and  the  King  of  the  Romans  after  the  battle  :— 

"  Austria's  young  monarch,  whose  imperial  sway 
Sceptres  and  thrones  are  destined  to  obey, 
Whose  boasted  ancestry  so  high  extends 
That  in  the  Pagan  Gods  his  lineage  ends, 
Comes  from  afar,  in  gratitude  to  own 
The  great  supporter  of  his  father's  throne. 
What  tides  of  glory  to  his  bosom  ran 
Clasped  in  th'  embraces  of  the  godlike  man  1 
How  were  his  eyes  with  pleasing  wonder  fixt, 
To  see  such  fire  with  so  much  sweetness  mixt! 
Such  easy  greatness,  such  a  graceful  port, 
So  turned  and  finished  for  the  camp  or  court ! " 

How  many  fourth-form  boys  at  JNIr.  Addison's  school 
of  Charter-liouse  could  write  as  well  as  that  now?    The 


CONGREVE    AND   ADDISON  219 

"Campaign"  has  blunders,  triumphant  as  it  was;  and 
weak  points  like  all  campaigns.^ 

In  the  year  1713  "  Cato  "  came  out.  Swift  has  left  a 
description  of  the  first  night  of  the  performance.  All 
the  laurels  of  Europe  were  scarcely  sufficient  for  the 
author  of  this  prodigious  poem.^    Laudations  of  Whig 

^"Mr.  Addison  wrote  very  fluently;  but  he  was  sometimes  very  slow  and 
scrupulous  in  correcting.  He  would  show  his  verses  to  several  friends;  and 
would  alter  almost  everything  that  any  of  them  hinted  at  as  wrong. 
He  seemed  to  be  too  diffident  of  himself;  and  too  much  concerned  about  his 
character  as  a  poet;  or  (as  he  worded  it)  too  solicitous  for  that  kind  of 
praise  which,  God  knows,  is  but  a  very  little  matter  after  all!"— Pope. 
Spence's  Anecdotes. 

-  "  As  to  poetical  affairs,"  says  Pope,  in  1713,  "  I  am  content  at  present  to 

be  a  bare  looker-on Cato  was  not  so  much  the  wonder  of  Rome  in  his 

days,  as  he  is  of  Britain  in  ours;  and  though  all  the  foolish  industry  possible 
has  been  used  to  make  it  thought  a  party  play,  yet  what  the  author  once  said 
of  another  may  the  most  properly  in  the  world  be  applied  to  him  on  this 
occasion : 

" '  Envy  itself  is  dumb— in  wonder  lost; 

And  factions  strive  who  shall  applaud  him  most.' 

"  The  numerous  and  violent  claps  of  the  Whig  party  on  the  one  side  of  the 
theatre  were  echoed  back  by  the  Tories  on  the  other;  while  the  author 
sweated  behind  the  scenes  with  concern  to  find  their  applause  proceeding 

more  from  the  hand  than  the  head I  believe  you  have  heard  that,  after 

all  the  applauses  of  the  opposite  faction,  my  Lord  Bolingbroke  sent  for 
Booth,  who  played  Cato,  into  the  box,  and  presented  him  with  fifty  guineas 
in  acknowledgment  (as  he  expressed  it)  for  defending  the  cause  of  liberty 
so  well  against  a  perpetual  dictator."— Pope's  Letters  to  Sir  W.  Trumbull. 

"Cato"  ran  for  thirty-five  nights  without  interruption.  Pope  wrote  the 
Prologue,  and  Garth  the  Epilogue. 

It  is  worth  noticing  how  many  things  in  "  Cato "  keep  their  ground  as 
habitual  quotations,  e.g.  :— 

" .     .     .     big  with  the  fate 
Of  Cato  and  of  Rome." 

"  'Tis  not  in  mortals  to  command  success, 

But  we'll  do  more,  Sempronius,  we'll  deserve  IL" 

"  Blesses  his  stars,  and  thinks  it  luxury." 

"  I  think  the  Romans  call  it  Stoicism." 

"  My  voice  is  still  for  war." 

"  When  vice  prevails,  and  impious  men  bear  sway. 
The  post  of  honour  is  a  private  station." 

Not  to  mention — 

"  The  woman  who  deliberates  is  lost." 
And  the  eternal— 

"  Plato,  thou  reasonest  well." 
which  avenges,  perhaps,  on  the  public  their  neglect  of  the  play! 


220  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

and  Tory  chiefs,  popular  ovations,  complimentary  gar- 
lands from  literary  men,  translations  in  all  languages, 
delight  and  homage  from  all— save  from  John  Dennis 
in  a  minority  of  one.  Mr.  Addison  was  called  the  "  great 
Mr.  Addison  "  after  this.  The  Coffee-house  Senate  sa- 
luted him  Divus:  it  was  heresy  to  question  that  decree. 
Meanwhile  he  was  writing  political  papers  and  ad- 
vancing in  the  political  profession.  He  went  Secretary 
to  Ireland.  He  was  appointed  Secretary  of  State  in 
1717.  And  letters  of  his  are  extant,  bearing  date  some 
year  or  two  before,  and  written  to  young  Lord  Warwick, 
in  which  he  addresses  him  as  "  my  dearest  lord,"  and  asks 
affectionately  about  his  studies,  and  writes  very  prettily 
about  nightingales  and  birds'-nests,  which  he  has  found 
at  Fulliam  for  his  lordship.  Those  nightingales  were 
intended  to  warble  in  the  ear  of  Lord  Warwick's 
mamma.  Addison  married  her  ladyship  in  1716;  and 
died  at  Holland  House  three  years  after  that  splendid 
but  dismal  union.  ^ 

^ "  The  lady  was  persuaded  to  marry  him  on  terms  much  like  those  on 
which  a  Turkish  princess  is  espoused— to  whom  the  Sultan  is  reported  to 
pronounce,  '  Daughter,  I  give  thee  this  man  for  thy  slave.'  The  marriage,  if 
uncontradicted  report  can  be  credited,  made  no  addition  to  his  happiness;  it 

neither  found  them,  nor  made  them,  equal Rowe's  ballad  of  '  The 

Despairing  Shepherd  '  is  said  to  have  been  written,  either  before  or  after 
marriage,  upon  this  memorable  pair."— Dr.  Johnson. 

"  I  received  the  news  of  Mr.  Addison's  being  declared  Secretary  of  State 
with  the  less  surprise,  in  that  I  knew  that  post  was  almost  offered  to  him 
before.  At  that  time  he  declined  it,  and  I  really  believe  that  he  would  have 
done  well  to  have  declined  it  now.  Such  a  post  as  that,  and  such  a  wife  as 
the  Countess,  do  not  seem  to  be,  in  prudence,  eligible  for  a  man  that  is 
asthmatic,  and  we  may  see  the  day  when  he  will  be  heartily  glad  to  resign 
them  both."— Lady  Wortley  Montagu  to  Pope:  Works,  Lord  Wharnclife's 
edit.,  Tol.  ii.  p.  111. 

The  issue  of  this  marriage  was  a  daughter,  Charlotte  Addison,  who  in- 
herited, on  her  mother's  death,  the  estate  of  Bilton,  near  Rugby,  which  her 
father  had  purchased.  She  was  of  weak  intellect,  and  died,  unmarried,  at 
an  advanced  age. 

Rowe  appears  to  have  been  faithful  to  Addison  during  his  courtship,  for 
his  Collection  contains  "  Stanzas  to  Lady  Warwick,  on  Mr.  Addison's  going 
to  Ireland,"  in  which  her  ladyship  is  called  "  Chloe,"  and  Joseph  Addison 
"Lycidas;"  besides  the  ballad  mentioned  by  the  Doctor,  and  which  is  en- 


CONGREVE   AND   ADDISON  221 

But  it  is  not  for  his  reputation  as  the  great  author  of 
"  Cato  "  and  the  "  Campaign,"  or  for  his  merits  as  Sec- 
retary of  State,  or  for  his  rank  and  high  distinction  as 
my  Lady  Warwick's  husband,  or  for  his  eminence  as  an 
Examiner  of  poHtical  questions  on  the  Whig  side,  or  a 
Guardian  of  British  hberties,  that  we  admire  Joseph 
Addison.  It  is  as  a  Tatler  of  small  talk  and  a  Spectator 
of  mankind,  that  we  cherish  and  love  him,  and  owe  as 
much  pleasure  to  him  as  to  any  human  being  that  ever 
wrote.  He  came  in  that  artificial  age,  and  began  to  speak 
with  his  noble,  natural  voice.  He  came,  the  gentle  satir- 
ist, who  hit  no  unfair  blow ;  the  kind  judge  who  castigated 
only  in  smiling.  While  Swift  went  about,  hanging  and 
ruthless— a  literary  Jeffreys— in  Addison's  kind  court 
only  minor  cases  were  tried :  only  peccadilloes  and  small 
sins  against  society:  only  a  dangerous  libertinism  in 
tuckers  and  hoops ;  ^  or  a  nuisance  in  the  abuse  of  beaux' 

titled  "  Colin's  Complaint."  But  not  even  the  interest  attached  to  the  name 
of  Addison  could  induce  the  reader  to  peruse  this  composition,  though  one 
stanza  may  serve  as  a  specimen: — 

"  What  though  I  have  skill  to  complain- 
Though  the  Muses  my  temples  have  crow^ned; 
What  though,  when  they  hear  my  soft  strain. 
The  virgins  sit  weeping  around. 

"  Ah,  Colin!  thy  hopes  are  in  vain; 
Thy  pipe  and  thy  laurel  resign; 
Thy  false  one  inclines  to  a  swain 
Whose  music  is  sweeter  than  thine." 

*One  of  the  most  humourous  of  these  is  the  paper  on  Hoops,  which,  the 
Spectator  tells  us,  particularly  pleased  his  friend  Sir  Roger: 
"  Mr.  Spectator,— 

"  You  have  diverted  the  tovm  almost  a  whole  month  at  the  expense  of  the 
country;  it  is  now  high  time  that  you  should  give  the  country  their  revenge. 
Since  your  withdrawing  from  this  place,  the  fair  sex  are  run  into  great 
extravagances.  Their  petticoats,  which  began  to  heave  and  swell  before  you 
left  us,  are  now  blown  up  into  a  most  enormous  concave,  and  rise  every  day 
more  and  more;  in  short,  sir,  since  our  women  know  themselves  to  be  out 
of  the  eye  of  the  Spectator,  they  will  be  kept  within  no  compass.  You 
praised  them  a  little  too  soon,  for  the  modesty  of  their  head-dresses;  for  as 
the  humour  of  a  sick  person  is  often  driven' out  of  one  limb  into  another, 
their  superfluity  of  ornaments,  instead  of  being  entirely  banished,  seems 
only  fallen  from  their  heads  upon  their  lower  parts.    What  they  have  lost 


222  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

canes  and  snuff-boxes.  It  may  be  a  lady  is  tried  for 
breaking  the  peace  of  our  sovereign  lady  Queen  Anne, 
and  ogling  too  dangerously  from  the  side-box;  or  a 
Templar  for  beating  the  watch,  or  breaking  Priscian's 
head:  or  a  citizen's  wife  for  caring  too  much  for  the 
puppet-show,  and  too  little  for  her  husband  and  children : 
every  one  of  the  little  sinners  brought  before  him  is 
amusing,  and  he  dismisses  each  with  the  pleasantest  pen- 
alties and  the  most  charming  words  of  admonition. 

Addison  wrote  his  papers  as  gaily  as  if  he  was  going 
out  for  a  holiday.  When  Steele's  "  Tatler  "  first  began 
his  prattle,  Addison,  then  in  Ireland,  caught  at  his 
friend's  notion,  poured  in  paper  after  paper,  and  con- 
tributed the  stores  of  his  mind,  the  sweet  fruits  of  his 
reading,  the  delightful  gleanings  of  his  daily  observa- 
tion, with  a  wonderful  profusion,  and  as  it  seemed  an  al- 
most endless  fecundity.  He  was  six-and-thirty  years 
old :  full  and  ripe.    He  had  not  worked  crop  after  crop 

in  height  they  make  up  in  breadth,  and  contrary,  to  all  rules  of  architecture, 
widen  the  foundations  at  the  same  time  that  they  shorten  the  superstructure. 

"  The  women  give  out,  in  defence  of  these  wide  bottoms,  that  they  are  airy 
and  very  proper  for  the  season;  but  this  I  look  upon  to  be  only  a  pretence 
and  a  piece  of  art,  for  it  is  well  known  we  have  not  had  a  more  moderate 
summer  these  many  years,  so  that  it  is  certain  the  heat  they  complain  of 
cannot  be  in  the  weather;  besides,  I  would  fain  ask  these  tender-constitu- 
tioned  ladies,  why  they  should  require  more  cooling  than  their  mothers  be- 
fore them? 

"  I  find  several  speculative  persons  are  of  opinion  that  our  sex  has  of  late 
years  been  very  saucy,  and  that  the  hoop-petticoat  is  made  use  of  to  keep 
us  at  a  distance.  It  is  most  certain  that  a  woman's  honour  cannot  be  better 
entrenched  than  after  this  manner,  in  circle  within  circle,  amidst  such  a 
variety  of  outworks  of  lines  and  circumvallation.  A  female  who  is  thus 
invested  in  whalebone  is  sufficiently  secured  against  the  approaches  of  an 
ill-bred  fellow,  who  might  as  well  think  of  Sir  George  Etheridge's  way  of 
making  love  in  a  tub  as  in  the  midst  of  so  many  hoops. 

"  Among  these  various  conjectures,  there  are  men  of  superstitious  tempers 
who  look  upon  the  hoop-petticoat  as  a  kind  of  prodigy.  Some  will  have  it 
that  it  portends  the  downfall  of  the  French  king,  and  observe,  that  the 
farthingale  appeared  in  Enf/lnnd  a  little  before  the  ruin  of  the  Spanith 
monarchy.  Others  are  of  opinion  that  it  foretells  battle  and  bloodshed,  and 
believe  it  of  the  same  prognostication  as  the  tail  of  a  blazing  star.  For  my 
part,  I  am  apt  to  think  it  is  a  sign  that  multitudes  are  coming  into  the  world 
rather  than  going  out  of  it,"  &c.  Sic.—Speclalor,  No.  127. 


CONGREVE   AND   ADDISON  223 

from  his  brain,  manuring  hastily,  subsoiling  indiffer- 
ently, cutting  and  sowing  and  cutting  again,  like  other 
luckless  cultivators  of  letters.  He  had  not  done  much  as 
yet;  a  few  Latin  poems— graceful  prolusions;  a  polite 
book  of  travels ;  a  dissertation  on  medals,  not  very  deep ; 
four  acts  of  a  tragedy,  a  great  classical  exercise;  and 
the  "  Campaign,"  a  large  prize  poem  that  won  an  enor- 
mous prize.  But  with  his  friend's  discovery  of  the  "  Tat- 
ler,"  Addison's  calling  was  found,  and  the  most  delight- 
ful talker  in  the  world  began  to  speak.  He  does  not  go 
very  deep:  let  gentlemen  of  a  profound  genius,  critics 
accustomed  to  the  plunge  of  the  bathos,  console  them- 
selves by  thinking  that  he  couldn't  go  very  deep.  There 
are  no  traces  of  suffering  in  his  writing.  He  was  so 
good,  so  honest,  so  healthy,  so  cheerfully  selfish,  if  I  must 
use  the  word.  There  is  no  deep  sentiment.  I  doubt, 
until  after  his  marriage,  perhaps,  whether  he  ever  lost 
his  night's  rest  or  his  day's  tranquillity  about  any  woman 
in  his  life;^  whereas  poor  Dick  Steele  had  capacity 
enough  to  melt,  and  to  languish,  and  to  sigh,  and  to  cry 
his  honest  old  eyes  out,  for  a  dozen.  His  writings  do 
not  show  insight  into  or  reverence  for  the  love  of  women, 
which  I  take  to  be,  one  the  consequence  of  the  other.  He 
walks  about  the  world  watching  their  pretty  humours, 
fashions,  follies,  flirtations,  rivalries;  and  noting  them 
with  the  most  charming  archness.  He  sees  them  in  pub- 
lic, in  the  theatre,  or  the  assembly,  or  the  puppet-show; 
or  at  the  toy-shop  higgling  for  gloves  and  lace;  or  at 
the  auction,  battling  together  over  a  blue  porcelain 
dragon,  or  a  darling  monster  in  Japan;  or  at  church, 

' "  Mr.  Addison  has  not  had  one  epithalamium  that  I  can  hear  of,  and 
must  even  be  reduced,  like  a  poorer  and  a  better  poet,  Spenser,  to  make  his 
own."— Pope's  Letters. 


224  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

eyeing  the  M^idth  of  their  rival's  hoops,  or  the  breadth  of 
their  laces,  as  they  sweep  down  the  aisles.  Or  he  looks 
out  of  his  window  at  the  "  Garter  "  in  St.  James's  Street, 
at  Ardelia's  coach,  as  she  blazes  to  the  draw  ing-room  with 
her  coronet  and  six  footmen ;  and  remembering  that  her 
father  was  a  Turkey  merchant  in  the  city,  calculates  how 
many  sponges  went  to  purchase  her  earring,  and  how 
many  drums  of  figs  to  build  her  coach-box;  or  he  de- 
murely watches  behind  a  tree  in  Spring  Garden  as  Sac- 
charissa  (whom  he  knows  under  her  mask)  trips  out  of 
her  chair  to  the  alley  where  Sir  Fopling  is  waiting.  He 
sees  only  the  public  life  of  women.  Addison  was  one  of 
the  most  resolute  club-men  of  his  day.  He  passed  many 
hours  daily  in  those  haunts.  Besides  drinking — which 
alas!  is  past  praying  for— you  must  know  it,  he  owned, 
too,  ladies,  that  he  indulged  in  that  odious  practice  of 
smoking.  Poor  fellow!  He  w^as  a  man's  man,  remem- 
ber. The  only  woman  he  did  know,  he  didn't  write 
about.  I  take  it  there  would  not  have  been  much  humour 
in  that  story. 

He  likes  to  go  and  sit  in  the  smoking-room  at  the 
"Grecian,"  or  the  "Devil;"  to  pace  'Change  and  the 
Mall  ^— to  mingle  in  that  great  club  of  the  world— sit- 

'  "  I  have  observed  that  a  reader  seldom  peruses  a  book  with  pleasure  till 
he  knows  whether  the  writer  of  it  be  a  black  or  a  fair  man,  of  a  mild  or  a 
choleric  disposition,  married  or  a  bachelor;  with  other  particulars  of  a  like 
nature,  that  conduce  very  much  to  the  right  understanding  of  an  author.  To 
gratify  this  curiosity,  which  is  so  natural  to  a  reader,  I  design  this  paper  and 
my  next  as  prefatory  discourses  to  my  following  writings;  and  shall  give 
some  account  in  them  of  the  persons  that  are  engaged  in  this  work.  As  the 
chief  trouble  of  compiling,  digesting,  and  correcting  will  fall  to  my  share,  I 

must  do  myself  the  justice  to  open  the  work  with  my  own  history 

There  runs  a  story  in  the  family,  that  when  my  mother  was  gone  with  child 
of  me  about  three  months,  she  dreamt  that  she  was  brought  to  bed  of  a 
judge.  Whether  this  might  proceed  from  a  lawsuit  which  was  then  de- 
pending in  the  family,  or  my  father's  being  a  justice  of  the  peace,  I  cannot 
determine;  for  I  am  not  so  vain  as  to  think  it  presaged  any  dignity  that  I 
.should  arrive  at  in  my  future  life,  though  that  was  the  interpretation  which 
the  neighbourhood  put  upon  it.     The  gravity  of  my  behaviour  at  my  very 


CONGREVE   AND    ADDISON  225 

ting  alone  in  it  somehow :  having  good-will  and  kindness 
for  every  single  man  and  woman  in  it— having  need  of 
some  habit  and  custom  binding  him  to  some  few ;  never 
doing  any  man  a  wrong  (unless  it  be  a  wrong  to  hint  a 
little  doubt  about  a  man's  parts,  and  to  damn  him  with 
faint  praise)  ;  and  so  he  looks  on  the  world  and  plays 
with  the  ceaseless  humours  of  all  of  us— laughs  the  kind- 
est laugh— points  our  neighbour's  foible  or  eccentricity 
out  to  us  with  the  most  good-natured,  smiling  confi- 
dence ;  and  then,  turning  over  his  shoulder,  whispers  our 
foibles  to  our  neighbour.     What  would  Sir  Roger  de 

first  appearance  in  the  world,  and  all  the  time  that  I  sucked,  seemed  to 
favour  my  mother's*  dream ;  for,  as  she  has  often  told  me,  I  threw  away  my 
rattle  before  I  was  two  months  old,  and  would  not  make  use  of  my  coral  till 
they  had  taken  away  the  bells  from  it. 

"As  for  the  rest  of  my  infancy,  there  being  nothing  in  it  remarkable,  I 
shall  pass  it  over  in  silence.  I  find  that  during  my  nonage  I  had  the  reputa- 
tion of  a  very  sullen  youth,  but  was  always  the  favourite  of  my  school- 
master, who  used  to  say  that  my  parts  were  solid  and  would  ivear  well.  I 
had  not  been  long  at  the  university  before  I  distinguished  myself  by  a  most 
profound  silence;  for  during  the  space  of  eight  years,  excepting  in  the 
public  exercises  of  the  college,  I  scarce  uttered  the  quantity  of  an  hundred 
words;  and,  indeed,  I  do  not  remember  that  I  ever  spoke  three  sentences  to- 
gether in  my  whole  life 

"  I  have  passed  my  latter  years  in  this  city,  where  I  am  frequently  seen  in 
most  public  places,  though  there  are  not  more  than  half-a-dozen  of  my  select 

friends  that  know  me There  is  no  place  of  general  resort  wherein  I 

do  not  often  make  my  appearance;  sometimes  I  am  seen  thrusting  my  head 
into  a  round  of  politicians  at  '  Will's,'  and  listening  with  great  attention  to 
the  narratives  that  are  made  in  these  little  circular  audiences.  Sometimes  I 
smoke  a  pipe  at  '  Child's,'  and  whilst  I  seem  attentive  to  nothing  but  the 
Postman,  overhear  the  conversation  of  every  table  in  the  room.  I  appear  on 
Tuesday  night  at  'St.  James's  Coffee-house;'  and  sometimes  join  the  little 
committee  of  politics  in  the  inner  room,  as  one  who  comes  to  hear  and  im- 
prove. My  face  is  likewise  very  well  known  at  the  '  Grecian,'  the  '  Cocoa- 
tree,'  and  in  the  theatres  both  of  Drury  Lane  and  the  Haymarket.  I  have 
been  taken  for  a  merchant  upon  the  Exchange  for  above  these  two  years; 
and  sometimes  pass  for  a  Jew  in  the  assembly  of  stock-jobbers  at  'Jona- 
than's.' In  short,  wherever  I  see  a  cluster  of  people,  I  mix  with  them, 
though  I  never  open  my  lips  but  in  my  own  club. 

"  Thus  I  live  in  the  world  rather  as  a  '  Spectator '  of  mankind  than  as  one 
of  the  species;  by  which  means  I  have  made  myself  a  speculative  statesman, 
soldier,  merchant,  and  artizan,  without  ever  meddling  in  any  practical  part 
in  life.  I  am  very  well  versed  in  the  theory  of  a  husband  or  a  father,  and 
can  discern  the  errors  in  the  economy,  business,  and  diversions  of  others, 
better  than  those  who  are  engaged  in  them— as  standers-by  discover  blots 

which  are  apt  to  escape  those  who  are  in  the  game In  short,  I  have 

acted,  in  all  the  parts  of  my  life,  as  a  looker-on,  which  is  the  character  1 
intend  to  preserve  in  this  paper."— Spectator,  No.  1. 


226  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

Coverley  be  without  his  foUies  and  his  charming  little 
brain-cracks?  ^  If  the  good  knight  did  not  call  out  to 
the  people  sleeping  in  church,  and  say  "Amen"  with 
such  a  delightful  pomposity :  if  he  did  not  make  a  speech 
in  the  assize-court  apropos  de  hottes,  and  merely  to  show 
his  dignity  to  Mr.  Spectator:^  if  he  did  not  mistake 
Madam  Doll  Tearsheet  for  a  lady  of  quality  in  Temple 
Garden:  if  he  were  wiser  than  he  is:  if  he  had  not  his 
humour  to  salt  his  life,  and  were  but  a  mere  English  gen- 
tleman and  game-preserver— of  what  worth  were  he  to 
us?  We  love  him  for  his  vanities  as  much  as  his  virtues. 
What  is  ridiculous  is  delightful  in  him;  we  are  so  fond 
of  him  because  we  laugh  at  him  so.  And  out  of  that 
laughter,  and  out  of  that  sweet  weakness,  and  out  of 
those  harmless  eccentricities  and  follies,  and  out  of  that 
touched  brain,  and  out  of  that  honest  manhood  and  sim- 
plicity— we  get  a  result  of  happiness,  goodness,  tender- 
ness, pity,  piety ;  such  as,  if  my  audience  will  think  their 
reading  and  hearing  over,  doctors  and  divines  but  seldom 
have  the  fortune  to  inspire.    And  why  not?    Is  the  glory 

* "  So  eflfectually,  indeed,  did  he  retort  on  vice  the  mockery  which  had 
recently  been  directed  against  virtue,  that,  since  his  time,  the  open  violation 
of  decency  has  always  been  considered,  amongst  us,  the  sure  mark  of  a  fool." 
— Macaulay. 

'"The  Court  was  sat  before  Sir  Roger  came;  but,  notwithstanding  all  the 
justices  had  taken  their  places  upon  the  bench,  they  made  room  for  the  old 
knight  at  the  head  of  them;  who  for  his  reputation  in  the  country  took 
occasion  to  whisper  in  the  judge's  ear  that  he  was  glad  his  lordship  had  met 
with  so  much  good  weather  in  his  circuit.  I  was  listening  to  the  proceedings 
of  the  Court  with  much  attention,  and  infinitely  pleased  with  that  great 
appearance  and  solemnity  which  so  properly  accompanies  such  a  public  ad- 
ministration of  our  laws;  when,  after  about  an  hour's  sitting,  I  observed,  to 
my  great  surprise,  in  the  midst  of  a  trial,  that  my  friend  Sir  Roger  was 
getting  up  to  speak.  I  was  in  some  pain  for  him,  till  I  found  he  had  ac- 
quitted himself  of  two  or  three  sentences,  with  a  look  of  much  business  and 
great  intrepidity. 

"  Upon  his  first  rising,  the  Court  was  hushed,  and  a  general  whisper  ran 
among  the  country  people  that  Sir  Roger  was  up.  The  speech  lie  made 
was  so  little  to  the  purpose,  that  1  shall  not  trouble  my  readers  with  an  ac- 
count of  it,  and  I  believe  was  not  so  much  designed  by  the  knight  liimself  to 
inform  the  Court  as  to  give  him  a  figure  in  my  eyes,  and  to  keep  up  his 
credit  in  the  country."— /S'pec^a^or,  No.  122. 


CONGREVE    AND    ADDISON  227 

of  Heaven  to  be  sung  only  by  gentlemen  in  black  coats? 
Must  the  truth  be  only  expounded  in  gown  and  surplice, 
and  out  of  those  two  vestments  can  nobody  preach  it? 
Commend  me  to  this  dear  preacher  without  orders— this 
parson  in  the  tye-wig.  When  this  man  looks  from  the 
world,  whose  weaknesses  he  describes  so  benevolently,  up 
to  the  Heaven  which  shines  over  us  all,  I  can  hardly 
fancy  a  human  face  lighted  up  with  a  more  serene  rap- 
ture: a  human  intellect  thrilling  with  a  purer  love  and 
adoration  than  Joseph  Addison's.  Listen  to  him :  from 
your  childhood  you  have  known  the  verses :  but  who  can 
hear  their  sacred  music  without  love  and  awe?— 

"  Soon  as  the  evening  shades  prevail. 
The  moon  takes  up  the  wondrous  tale, 
And  nightly  to  the  listening  earth 
Repeats  the  story  of  her  birth ; 
Whilst  all  the  stars  that  round  her  burn, 
And  all  the  planets  in  their  turn. 
Confirm  the  tidings  as  they  roll. 
And  spread  the  truth  from  pole  to  pole. 
What  though,  in  solemn  silence,  all 
Move  round  the  dark  terrestrial  ball ; 
What  though  no  real  voice  nor  sound 
Amid  their  radiant  orbs  be  found ; 
In  reason's  ear  they  all  rejoice, 
And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice, 
For  ever  singing  as  they  shine. 
The  hand  that  made  us  is  divine." 

It  seems  to  me  those  verses  shine  like  the  stars.  They 
shine  out  of  a  great  deep  calm.  When  he  turns  to 
Heaven,  a  Sabbath  comes  over  that  man's  mind:  and  his 
face  lights  up  from  it  with  a  glory  of  thanks  and  prayer. 


228  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

His  sense  of  religion  stirs  through  his  whole  being.  In 
the  fields,  in  the  town :  looking  at  the  birds  in  the  trees : 
at  the  children  in  the  streets:  in  the  morning  or  in  the 
moonhght :  over  his  books  in  his  own  room :  in  a  happy 
party  at  a  country  merry-making  or  a  town  assembly, 
good-wull  and  peace  to  God's  creatures,  and  love  and  awe 
of  Him  who  made  them,  fill  his  pure  heart  and  shine 
from  his  kind  face.  If  Swift's  life  was  the  most 
WTctched,  I  think  Addison's  was  one  of  the  most  en- 
viable. A  life  prosperous  and  beautiful— a  calm  death 
—an  immense  fame  and  affection  afterwards  for  his 
happy  and  spotless  name.^ 

» "  Garth  sent  to  Addison  (of  whom  he  had  a  very  high  opinion)  on  his 
deathbed,  to  ask  him  whether  the  Christian  religion  was  true."— Dr.  Young. 
Spence's  Anecdotes. 

"  I  have  always  preferred  cheerfulness  to  mirth.  The  latter  I  consider  as 
an  act,  the  former  as  an  habit  of  the  mind.  Mirth  is  short  and  transient, 
cheerfulness  fixed  and  permanent.  Those  are  often  raised  into  the  greatest 
transports  of  mirth  who  are  subject  to  the  greatest  depression  of  melancholy: 
on  the  contrary,  cheerfulness,  though  it  does  not  give  the  mind  such  an  ex- 
quisite gladness,  prevents  us  from  falling  into  any  depths  of  sorrow.  Mirth 
is  like  a  flash  of  lightning  that  breaks  through  a  gloom  of  clouds,  and  glitters 
for  a  moment;  cheerfulness  keeps  up  a  kind  of  daylight  in  the  mind,  and 
fills  it  with  a  steady  and  perpetual  serenity."— Addison:  Spectator,  No.  381. 


STEELE 

WHAT  do  we  look  for  in  studying  the  history  of 
a  past  age?  Is  it  to  learn  the  political  transac- 
tions and  characters  of  the  leading  public  men?  is  it  to 
make  ourselves  acquainted  with  the  life  and  being  of  the 
time?  If  we  set  out  with  the  former  grave  purpose, 
where  is  the  truth,  and  who  believes  that  he  has  it  entire? 
What  character  of  what  great  man  is  known  to  you? 
You  can  but  make  guesses  as  to  character  more  or  less 
happy.  In  common  life  don't  you  often  judge  and  mis- 
judge a  man's  whole  conduct,  setting  out  from  a  wrong 
impression?  The  tone  of  a  voice,  a  word  said  in  joke,  or 
a  trifle  in  behaviour— the  cut  of  his  hair  or  the  tie  of  his 
neckcloth  may  disfigure  him  in  your  eyes,  or  poison  your 
good  opinion ;  or  at  the  end  of  years  of  intimacy  it  may 
be  your  closest  friend  says  something,  reveals  something 
which  had  previously  been  a  secret,  which  alters  all  your 
views  about  him,  and  shows  that  he  has  been  acting  on 
quite  a  different  motive  to  that  which  you  fancied  you 
knew.  And  if  it  is  so  with  those  you  know,  how  much 
more  with  those  you  don't  know?  Say,  for  example,  that 
I  want  to  understand  the  character  of  the  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough. I  read  Swift's  history  of  the  times  in  which 
he  took  a  part ;  the  shrewdest  of  observers  and  initiated, 
one  would  think,  into  the  pohtics  of  the  age— he  hints  to 
me  that  ^larlborough  was  a  coward,  and  even  of  doubt- 
ful military  capacity:  he  speaks  of  Walpole  as  a  con- 


230  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

temptible  boor,  and  scarcely  mentions,  except  to  flout  it, 
the  great  intrigue  of  the  Queen's  latter  days,  which  was 
to  have  ended  in  bringing  back  the  Pretender.  Again,  I 
read  Marlborough's  life  by  a  copious  archdeacon,  who 
has  the  command  of  immense  papers,  of  sonorous  lan- 
guage, of  what  is  called  the  best  information ;  and  I  get 
httle  or  no  insight  into  this  secret  motive  which,  I  believe, 
influenced  the  whole  of  Marlborough's  career,  which 
caused  his  turnings  and  windings,  his  opportune  fidelity 
and  treason,  stopped  his  army  almost  at  Paris  gate,  and 
landed  him  finally  on  the  Hanoverian  side— the  winning 
side :  I  get,  I  say,  no  truth,  or  only  a  portion  of  it,  in  the 
narrative  of  either  writer,  and  believe  that  Coxe's  por- 
trait, or  Swift's  portrait,  is  quite  unlike  the  real  Church- 
ill. I  take  this  as  a  single  instance,  prepared  to  be 
as  sceptical  about  any  other,  and  say  to  the  Muse  of  His- 
tory, "  O  venerable  daughter  of  Mnemosyne,  I  doubt 
every  single  statement  you  ever  made  since  your  lady- 
ship was  a  Muse !  For  all  your  grave  airs  and  high  pre- 
tensions, you  are  not  a  whit  more  trustworthy  than  some 
of  your  lighter  sisters  on  whom  your  partisans  look 
down.  You  bid  me  listen  to  a  general's  oration  to  his 
soldiers:  Nonsense!  He  no  more  made  it  than  Turpin 
made  his  dying  speech  at  Newgate.  You  pronounce  a 
panegyric  of  a  hero :  I  doubt  it,  and  say  you  flatter  out- 
rageously. You  utter  the  condemnation  of  a  loose  char- 
acter: I  doubt  it,  and  think  you  are  prejudiced  and  take 
the  side  of  the  Dons.  You  offer  me  an  autobiography : 
I  doubt  all  autobiographies  I  ever  read;  except  those, 
perhaps,  of  Mr.  Robinson  Crusoe,  Mariner,  and  writers 
of  his  class.  These  have  no  object  in  setting  themselves 
right  with  the  public  or  their  own  consciences ;  these  have 
no  motive  for  concealment  or  half-truths;  these  call  for 


STEELE  231 

no  more  confidence  than  I  can  cheerfully  give,  and  do 
not  force  me  to  tax  my  credulity  or  to  fortify  it  by  evi- 
dence. I  take  up  a  volume  of  Dr,  Smollett,  or  a  volume 
of  the  Spectator,  and  say  the  fiction  carries  a  greater 
amount  of  truth  in  solution  than  the  volume  which  pur- 
ports to  be  all  true.  Out  of  the  fictitious  book  I  get  the 
expression  of  the  life  of  the  time ;  of  the  manners,  of  the 
movement,  the  dress,  the  pleasures,  the  laughter,  the 
ridicules  of  society— the  old  times  live  again,  and  I  travel 
in  the  old  country  of  England.  Can  the  heaviest  his- 
torian do  more  for  me? " 

As  we  read  in  these  delightful  volumes  of  the  Tatler 
and  Spectator  the  past  age  returns,  the  England  of  our 
ancestors  is  revivified.  The  Maypole  rises  in  the  Strand 
again  in  London;  the  churches  are  thronged  with  daily 
worshippers;  the  beaux  are  gathering  in  the  coffee- 
houses ;  the  gentry  are  going  to  the  Drawing-room ;  the 
ladies  are  thronging  to  the  toy-shops;  the  chairmen  are 
jostling  in  the  streets;  the  footmen  are  running  with 
links  before  the  chariots,  or  fighting  round  the  theatre 
doors.  In  the  country  I  see  the  young  Squire  riding  to 
Eton  with  his  servants  behind  him,  and  Will  Wimble, 
the  friend  of  the  family,  to  see  him  safe.  To  make  that 
journey  from  the  Squire's  and  back,  Will  is  a  week  on 
horseback.  The  coach  takes  five  days  between  London 
and  Bath.  The  judges  and  the  bar  ride  the  circuit.  If 
my  lady  comes  to  town  in  her  post-chariot,  her  people 
carry  pistols  to  fire  a  salute  on  Captain  Macheath  if  he 
should  appear,  and  her  couriers  ride  ahead  to  prepare 
apartments  for  her  at  the  great  caravanserais  on  the  road ; 
Boniface  receives  her  under  the  creaking  sign  of  the 
"  Bell "  or  the  "  Ram,"  and  he  and  his  chamberlains  bow 
her  up  the  great  stair  to  the  state-apartments,  whilst  her 


232  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

carriage  rumbles  into  the  court-yard,  where  the  "  Exeter 
Fly"  is  housed  that  performs  the  journey  in  eight  days, 
God  willing,  having  achieved  its  daily  flight  of  twenty 
miles,  and  landed  its  passengers  for  supper  and  sleep. 
The  curate  is  taking  his  pipe  in  the  kitchen,  where  the 
Captain's  man— having  hung  up  his  master's  half  pike 
—is  at  his  bacon  and  eggs,  bragging  of  Ramillies  and 
Malplaquet  to  the  town's-f oik,  who  have  their  club  in  the 
chimney-corner.  The  Captain  is  ogling  the  chamber- 
maid in  the  wooden  gallery,  or  bribing  her  to  know  who 
is  the  pretty  young  mistress  that  has  come  in  the  coach. 
The  pack-horses  are  in  the  great  stable,  and  the  drivers 
and  ostlers  carousing  in  the  tap.  And  in  Mrs.  Land- 
lady's bar,  over  a  glass  of  strong  waters,  sits  a  gentleman 
of  military  appearance,  who  travels  with  pistols,  as  all 
the  rest  of  the  world  does,  and  has  a  rattling  grey  mare 
in  the  stables  which  will  be  saddled  and  away  with  its 
owner  half  an  hour  before  the  "  Fly  "  sets  out  on  its  last 
day's  flight.  And  some  five  miles  on  the  road,  as  the 
"Exeter  Fly"  comes  jingling  and  creaking  onwards,  it 
will  suddenly  be  brought  to  a  halt  by  a  gentleman  on  a 
grey  mare,  with  a  black  vizard  on  his  face,  who  thrusts  a 
long  pistol  into  the  coach  window,  and  bids  the  company 
to  hand  out  their  purses.  ...  It  must  have  been  no 
small  pleasure  even  to  sit  in  the  great  kitchen  in  those 
days,  and  see  the  tide  of  humankind  pass  by.  We  arrive 
at  places  now,  but  we  travel  no  more.  Addison  talks 
jocularly  of  a  difl"erence  of  manner  and  costume  being 
quite  perceivable  at  Staines,  where  there  passed  a  young 
fellow  "with  a  very  tolerable  periwig,"  though,  to  be 
sure,  his  hat  was  out  of  fashion,  and  had  a  Ramillies  cock. 
I  would  have  liked  to  travel  in  those  days  (being  of  that 
class  of  travellers  who  are  proverbially  pretty  easy  coram 


STEELE  233 

latronihus)  and  have  seen  my  friend  with  the  grey  mare 
and  the  black  vizard.  Alas!  there  always  came  a  day  in 
the  life  of  that  warrior  when  it  was  the  fashion  to  accom- 
pany him  as  he  passed— without  his  black  mask,  and  with 
a  nosegay  in  his  hand,  accompanied  by  halberdiers  and 
attended  by  the  sheriff,— in  a  carriage  without  springs, 
and  a  clergyman  jolting  beside  him,  to  a  spot  close  by 
Cumberland  Gate  and  the  Marble  Arch,  where  a  stone 
still  records  that  here  Tyburn  turnpike  stood.  What  a 
change  in  a  century;  in  a  few  years!  Within  a  few 
yards  of  that  gate  the  fields  began:  the  fields  of  his  ex- 
ploits, behind  the  hedges  of  which  he  lurked  and  robbed. 
A  great  and  wealthy  city  has  grown  over  those  meadows. 
Were  a  man  brought  to  die  there  now,  the  windows 
would  be  closed  and  the  inhabitants  keep  their  houses  in 
sickening  horror.  A  hundred  years  back,  people 
crowded  to  see  that  last  act  of  a  highwayman's  Hfe,  and 
make  jokes  on  it.  Swift  laughed  at  him,  grimly  advis- 
ing him  to  provide  a  Holland  shirt  and  white  cap 
crowned  with  a  crimson  or  black  ribbon  for  his  exit,  to 
mount  the  cart  cheerfully— shake  hands  with  the  hang- 
man, and  so— farewell.  Gay  wrote  the  most  delightful 
ballads,  and  made  merry  over  the  same  hero.  Contrast 
these  with  the  writings  of  our  present  humourists !  Com- 
pare those  morals  and  ours— those  manners  and  ours! 

We  can't  tell— you  would  not  bear  to  be  told  the  whole 
truth  regarding  those  men  and  manners.  You  could  no 
more  suffer  in  a  British  drawing-room,  under  the  reign 
of  Queen  Victoria,  a  fine  gentleman  or  fine  lady  of 
Queen  Anne's  time,  or  hear  what  they  heard  and  said, 
than  you  would  receive  an  ancient  Briton.  It  is  as  one 
reads  about  savages,  that  one  contemplates  the  wild 
ways,  the  barbarous  feasts,  the  terrific  pastimes,  of  the 


234  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

men  of  pleasure  of  that  age.  We  have  our  fine  gentle- 
men, and  our  "fast  men;"  permit  me  to  give  you  an 
idea  of  one  particularly  fast  nobleman  of  Queen  Anne's 
days,  whose  biography  has  been  preserved  to  us  by  the 
law  reporters. 

In  1691,  when  Steele  was  a  boy  at  school,  my  Lord 
Mohun  was  tried  by  his  peers  for  the  murder  of  William 
]Mountford,  comedian.  In  "  Howell's  State  Trials,"  the 
reader  will  find  not  only  an  edifying  account  of  this  ex- 
ceedingly fast  nobleman,  but  of  the  times  and  manners 
of  those  days.  ]My  lord's  friend,  a  Captain  Hill,  smitten 
with  the  charms  of  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  and 
anxious  to  marry  her  at  all  hazards,  determined  to  carry 
her  off,  and  for  this  purpose  hired  a  hackney-coach  with 
six  horses,  and  a  half-dozen  of  soldiers,  to  aid  him  in  the 
storm.  The  coach  with  a  pair  of  horses  (the  four  leaders 
being  in  waiting  elsewhere)  took  its  station  opposite  my 
Lord  Craven's  house  in  Drury  Lane,  by  which  door  Mrs. 
Bracegirdle  was  to  pass  on  her  way  from  the  theatre. 
As  she  passed  in  company  of  her  mamma  and  a  friend, 
Mr.  Page,  the  Captain  seized  her  by  the  hand,  the  sol- 
diers hustled  Mr.  Page  and  attacked  him  sword  in  hand, 
and  Captain  Hill  and  his  noble  friend  endeavoured  to 
force  Madam  Bracegirdle  into  the  coach.  Mr.  Page 
called  for  help:  the  population  of  Drury  Lane  rose:  it 
was  impossible  to  effect  the  capture;  and  bidding  the 
soldiers  go  about  their  business,  and  the  coach  to  drive 
off.  Hill  let  go  of  his  prey  sulkily,  and  waited  for  other 
opportunities  of  revenge.  The  man  of  whom  he  was 
most  jealous  was  Will  Mountford,  the  comedian;  Will 
removed,  he  thought  Mrs.  Bracegirdle  might  be  his:  and 
accordingly  the  Captain  and  his  lordship  lay  that  night 
in  wait  for  Will,  and  as  he  was  coming  out  of  a  house  in 


STEELE  235 

Norfolk  Street,  while  Mohun  engaged  him  in  talk,  Hill, 
in  the  words  of  the  Attorney-General,  made  a  pass  and 
ran  him  clean  through  the  body. 

Sixty-one  of  my  lord's  peers  finding  him  not  guilty  of 
murder,  while  but  fourteen  found  him  guilty,  this  very 
fast  nobleman  was  discharged :  and  made  his  appearance 
seven  years  after  in  another  trial  for  murder— when  he, 
my  Lord  Warwick,  and  three  gentlemen  of  the  military 
profession,  were  concerned  in  the  fight  which  ended  in 
the  death  of  Captain  Coote. 

This  jolly  company  were  drinking  together  at 
"  Lockit's  "  in  Charing  Cross,  when  angry  words  arose 
between  Captain  Coote  and  Captain  French ;  whom  my 
Lord  Mohun  and  my  Lord  the  Earl  of  Warwick  ^  and 
Holland  endeavoured  to  pacify.  My  Lord  Warwick 
was  a  dear  friend  of  Captain  Coote,  lent  him  a  hundred 
pounds  to  buy  his  commission  in  the  Guards ;  once  when 
the  captain  was  arrested  for  13l.  by  his  tailor,  my  lord 
lent  him  five  guineas,  often  paid  his  reckoning  for  him, 
and  showed  him  other  offices  of  friendship.  On  this 
evening  the  disputants,  French  and  Coote,  being  sepa- 
rated whilst  they  were  upstairs,  unluckily  stopped  to 
drink  ale  again  at  the  bar  of  "  Lockit's."  The  row  began 
afresh — Coote  lunged  at  French  over  the  bar,  and  at  last 

'  The  husband  of  the  Lady  Warwick  who  married  Addison,  and  the 
father  of  the  young  Earl,  who  was  brought  to  his  stepfather's  bed  to  see 
"  how  a  Christian  could  die."  He  was  amongst  the  wildest  of  the  nobility  of 
that  day;  and  in  the  curious  collection  of  Chap-Books  at  the  British  Museum, 
I  have  seen  more  than  one  anecdote  of  the  freaks  of  the  gay  lord.  He  was 
popular  in  London,  as  such  daring  spirits  have  been  in  our  time.  The  anec- 
dotists  speak  very  kindly  of  his  practical  jokes.  Mohun  was  scarcely  out  of 
prison  for  his  second  homicide,  when  he  went  on  Lord  Macclesfield's  embassy 
to  the  Elector  of  Hanover,  when  Queen  Anne  sent  the  garter  to  H.  E.  High- 
ness. The  chronicler  of  the  expedition  speaks  of  his  lordship  as  an  amiable 
young  man,  who  had  been  in  bad  company,  but  was  quite  repentant  and  re- 
formed. He  and  Macartney  afterwards  murdered  the  Duke  of  Hamilton 
between  them,  in  which  act  Lord  Mohun  died.  This  amiable  baron's  name 
was  Charles,  and  not  Henry,  as  a  recent  novelist  has  christened  him. 


236  ENGLISH  HUMOURISTS 

all  six  called  for  chairs,  and  went  to  Leicester  Fields, 
where  they  fell  to.  Their  lordships  engaged  on  the  side 
of  Captain  Coote.  My  Lord  of  Warwick  was  severely 
wounded  in  the  hand,  Mr.  French  also  was  stabbed,  but 
honest  Captain  Coote  got  a  couple  of  wounds — one  es- 
pecially, "  a  wound  in  the  left  side  just  under  the  short 
ribs,  and  piercing  through  the  diaphragma,"  which  did 
for  Captain  Coote.  Hence  the  trials  of  my  Lords  War- 
wick and  Mohun:  hence  the  assemblage  of  peers,  the 
report  of  the  transaction,  in  which  these  defunct  fast 
men  still  live  for  the  observation  of  the  curious.  My 
Lord  of  Warwick  is  brought  to  the  bar  by  the  Deputy 
Governor  of  the  Tower  of  London,  having  the  axe  car- 
ried before  him  by  the  gentleman  gaoler,  who  stood  with 
it  at  the  bar  at  the  right  hand  of  the  prisoner,  turning  the 
edge  from  him;  the  prisoner,  at  his  approach,  making 
three  bows,  one  to  his  Grace  the  Lord  High  Steward,  the 
other  to  the  peers  on  each  hand ;  and  his  Grace  and  the 
peers  return  the  salute.  And  besides  these  great  per- 
sonages, august  in  periwigs,  and  nodding  to  the  right 
and  left,  a  host  of  the  small  come  up  out  of  the  past  and 
pass  before  us— the  jolly  captains  brawling  in  the  tavern, 
and  laughing  and  cursing  over  their  cups— the  drawer 
that  serves,  the  bar-girl  that  waits,  the  bailiif  on  the 
prowl,  the  chairmen  trudging  through  the  black  lampless 
streets,  and  smoking  their  pipes  by  the  railings,  whilst 
swords  are  clashing  in  the  garden  within.  "  Help  there! 
a  gentleman  is  hurt!  "  The  chairmen  put  up  their  pipes, 
and  help  the  gentleman  over  the  railings,  and  carry  him, 
ghastly  and  bleeding,  to  the  Bagnio  in  Long  Acre,  where 
they  knock  up  the  surgeon— a  pretty  tall  gentleman: 
but  that  wound  under  the  short  ribs  has  done  for  him. 
Surgeon,  lords,  captains,  bailiffs,  chairmen,  and  gentle- 


STEELE  237 

man  gaoler  with  your  axe,  where  be  you  now  ?  The  gen- 
tleman axeman's  head  is  off  his  own  shoulders ;  the  lords 
and  judges  can  wag  theirs  no  longer;  the  bailiff's  writs 
have  ceased  to  run ;  the  honest  chairmen's  pipes  are  put 
out,  and  with  their  brawny  calves  they  have  walked  away 
into  Hades— all  as  irrecoverably  done  for  as  Will  Mount- 
ford  or  Captain  Coote.  The  subject  of  our  night's  lec- 
ture saw  all  these  people— rode  in  Captain  Coote's  com- 
pany of  the  Guards  very  probably— wrote  and  sighed 
for  Bracegirdle,  went  home  tipsy  in  many  a  chair,  after 
many  a  bottle,  in  many  a  tavern— fled  from  many  a 
bailiff. 

In  1709,  when  the  publication  of  the  Tatler  began,  our 
great-great-grandfathers  must  have  seized  upon  that 
new  and  delightful  paper  with  much  such  eagerness  as 
lovers  of  light  literature  in  a  later  day  exhibited  when  the 
Waverley  novels  appeared,upon  which  the  public  rushed, 
forsaking  that  feeble  entertainment  of  which  the  Miss 
Porters,  the  Anne  of  Swanseas,  and  worthy  Mrs. 
RadclifFe  herself,  with  her  dreary  castles  and  exploded 
old  ghosts,  had  had  pretty  much  the  monopoly.  I  have 
looked  over  many  of  the  comic  books  with  which  our  an- 
cestors amused  themselves,  from  the  novels  of  Swift's 
coadjutrix,  Mrs.  Manley,  the  delectable  author  of  the 
"New  Atlantis,"  to  the  facetious  productions  of  Tom 
Durfey,  and  Tom  Brown,  and  Ned  Ward,  writer  of  the 
"  London  Spy  "  and  several  other  volumes  of  ribaldry. 
The  slang  of  the  taverns  and  ordinaries,  the  wit  of  the 
Bagnios,  form  the  strongest  part  of  the  farrago  of  which 
these  libels  are  composed.  In  the  excellent  newspaper 
collection  at  the  British  Museum,  you  may  see,  besides, 
the  Craftsmen  and  Postboy  specimens,  and  queer  speci- 
mens they  are,  of  the  higher  literature  of  Queen  Anne's 


238  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

time.  Here  is  an  abstract  from  a  notable  journal  bear- 
ing date,  Wednesday,  October  13th,  1708,  and  entitled 
''  The  British  Apollo;  or,  curious  amusements  for  the  in- 
genious, by  a  society  of  gentlemen."  The  British  Apollo 
invited  and  professed  to  answer  questions  upon  all  sub- 
jects of  wit,  morality,  science,  and  even  religion;  and 
two  out  of  its  four  pages  are  filled  with  queries  and  re- 
plies much  like  some  of  the  oracular  penny  prints  of  the 
present  time. 

One  of  the  first  querists,  referring  to  the  passage  that 
a  bishop  should  be  the  husband  of  one  wife,  argues  that 
polygamy  is  justifiable  in  the  laity.  The  society  of  gen- 
tlemen conducting  the  British  Apollo  are  posed  by  this 
casuist,  and  promise  to  give  him  an  answer.  Celinda 
then  wishes  to  know  from  "  the  gentlemen,"  concerning 
the  souls  of  the  dead,  whether  they  shall  have  the  satis- 
faction to  know  those  whom  they  most  valued  in  this 
transitory  life.  The  gentlemen  of  the  Apollo  give  but 
cold  comfort  to  poor  Celinda.  They  are  inclined  to 
think  not:  for,  say  they,  since  every  inhabitant  of  those 
regions  will  be  infinitely  dearer  than  here  are  our  near- 
est relatives— what  have  we  to  do  with  a  partial  friend- 
ship in  that  place?  Poor  Celinda!  it  may  have  been  a 
child  or  a  lover  whom  she  had  lost,  and  was  pining  after, 
when  the  oracle  of  British  Apollo  gave  her  this  dismal 
answer.  She  has  solved  the  question  for  herself  by 
this  time,  and  knows  quite  as  well  as  the  society  of 
gentlemen. 

From  theology  we  come  to  physics,  and  Q.  asks,"  Why 
does  hot  water  freeze  sooner  than  cold ? "  Apollo  replies, 
"Hot  water  cannot  be  said  to  freeze  sooner  than  cold; 
but  water  once  heated  and  cold,  may  be  subject  to  freeze 
by  the  evaporation  of  the  spirituous  parts  of  the  water, 


STEELE  239 

which  renders  it  less  able  to  withstand  the  power  of 
frosty  weather." 

The  next  query  is  rather  a  delicate  one.  "  You,  Mr. 
Apollo,  who  are  said  to  be  the  God  of  wisdom,  pray  give 
us  the  reason  why  kissing  is  so  much  in  fashion:  what 
benefit  one  receives  by  it,  and  who  was  the  inventor,  and 
you  will  oblige  Corinna."  To  this  queer  demand  the  lips 
of  Phoebus,  smiling,  answer:  "  Pretty  innocent  Corinna! 
Apollo  owns  that  he  was  a  little  surprised  by  your  kiss- 
ing question,  particularly  at  that  part  of  it  where  you 
desire  to  know  the  benefit  you  receive  by  it.  Ah! 
madam,  had  you  a  lover,  you  would  not  come  to  Apollo 
for  a  solution ;  since  there  is  no  dispute  but  the  kisses  of 
mutual  lovers  give  infinite  satisfaction.  As  to  its  inven- 
tion, 'tis  certain  nature  was  its  author,  and  it  began  with 
the  first  courtship." 

After  a  column  more  of  questions,  follow  nearly  two 
pages  of  poems,  signed  by  Philander,  Armenia,  and  the 
like,  and  chiefly  on  the  tender  passion;  and  the  paper 
wound  up  with  a  letter  from  Leghorn,  an  account  of  the 
Duke  of  Marlborough  and  Prince  Eugene  before  Lille, 
and  proposals  for  publishing  two  sheets  on  the  present 
state  of  Ethiopia,  by  Mr.  Hill:  all  of  which  is  printed 
for  the  authors  by  J.  Mayo,  at  the  Printing  Press  against 
Water  Lane  in  Fleet  Street.  What  a  change  it  must 
have  been— how  Apollo's  oracles  must  have  been  struck 
dumb,  when  the  Tatler  appeared,  and  scholars,  gentle- 
men, men  of  the  world,  men  of  genius,  began  to  speak! 

Shortly  before  the  Boyne  was  fought,  and  young 
Swift  had  begun  to  make  acquaintance  with  English 
court  manners  and  English  servitude,  in  Sir  William 
Temple's  family,  another  Irish  youth  was  brought  to 
learn  his  humanities  at  the  old  school  of  Charterhouse, 


240  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

near  Smithfield;  to  which  foundation  he  had  been  ap- 
pointed by  James  Duke  of  Ormond,  a  governor  of  the 
House,  and  a  patron  of  the  lad's  family.  The  boy  was 
an  orphan,  and  described,  twenty  years  after,  with  a 
sweet  pathos  and  simpHcity,  some  of  the  earliest  recollec- 
tions of  a  life  which  was  destined  to  be  chequered  by  a 
strange  variety  of  good  and  evil  fortune. 

I  am  afraid  no  good  report  could  be  given  by  his  mas- 
ters and  ushers  of  that  thick-set,  square-faced,  black- 
eyed,  soft-hearted  little  Irish  boy.  He  was  very  idle. 
He  was  whipped  deservedly  a  great  number  of  times. 
Though  he  had  very  good  parts  of  his  own,  he  got  other 
boys  to  do  his  lessons  for  him,  and  only  took  just  as  much 
trouble  as  should  enable  him  to  scuffle  through  his  exer- 
cises, and  by  good  fortune  escape  the  flogging-block. 
One  hundred  and  fifty  years  after,  I  have  myself  in- 
spected, but  only  as  an  amateur,  that  instrument  of 
righteous  torture  still  existing,  and  in  occasional  use,  in 
a  secluded  private  apartment  of  the  old  Charterhouse 
School;  and  have  no  doubt  it  is  the  very  counterpart,  if 
not  the  ancient  and  interesting  machine  itself,  at  which 
poor  Dick  Steele  submitted  himself  to  the  tormentors. 

Besides  being  very  kind,  lazy,  and  good-natured,  this 
boy  went  invariably  into  debt  with  the  tart-woman;  ran 
out  of  bounds,  and  entered  into  pecuniary,  or  rather 
promissory,  engagements  with  the  neighbouring  lolli- 
pop-vendors and  piemen — exhibited  an  early  fondness 
and  capacity  for  drinking  mum  and  sack,  and  borrowed 
from  all  his  comrades  who  had  money  to  lend.  I  have  no 
sort  of  authority  for  the  statements  here  made  of  Steele's 
early  life;  but  if  the  child  is  father  of  the  man,  the  father 
of  young  Steele  of  Merton,  who  left  Oxford  without 
taking  a  degree,  and  entered  the  Life  Guards— the  fa- 


STEELE  241 

ther  of  Captain  Steele  of  Lucas's  Fusiliers,  who  got  his 
company  through  the  patronage  of  my  Lord  Cutts — the 
father  of  Mr.  Steele  the  Commissioner  of  Stamps,  the 
editor  of  the  Gazette,  the  Tatler,  and  Spectator,  the  ex- 
pelled Member  of  Parliament,  and  the  author  of  the 
"Tender  Husband"  and  the  "Conscious  Lovers;"  if 
man  and  boy  resembled  each  other,  Dick  Steele  the 
schoolboy  must  have  been  one  of  the  most  generous, 
good-for-nothing,  amiable  little  creatures  that  ever  con- 
jugated the  verb  tupto,  I  beat,  tuptoinai,  I  am  whipped, 
in  any  school  in  Great  Britain. 

Almost  every  gentleman  who  does  me  the  honour  to 
hear  me  will  remember  that  the  very  greatest  character 
which  he  has  seen  in  the  course  of  his  life,  and  the  person 
to  whom  he  has  looked  up  with  the  greatest  wonder  and 
reverence,  was  the  head  boy  at  his  school.  The  school- 
master himself  hardly  inspires  such  an  awe.  The  head 
boy  construes  as  well  as  the  schoolmaster  himself.  When 
he  begins  to  speak  the  hall  is  hushed,  and  every  little  boy 
listens.  He  writes  off  copies  of  Latin  verses  as  melodi- 
ously as  Virgil.  He  is  good-natured,  and,  his  own  mas- 
terpieces achieved,  pours  out  other  copies  of  verses  for 
other  boys  with  an  astonishing  ease  and  fluency ;  the  idle 
ones  only  trembling  lest  they  should  be  discovered  on 
giving  in  their  exercises,  and  whipped  because  their 
poems  were  too  good.  I  have  seen  great  men  in  my  time, 
but  never  such  a  great  one  as  that  head  boy  of  my  child- 
hood :  we  all  thought  he  must  be  Prime  Minister,  and  I 
was  disappointed  on  meeting  him  in  after  Hfe  to  find  he 
was  no  more  than  six  feet  high. 

Dick  Steele,  the  Charterhouse  gownboy,  contracted 
such  an  admiration  in  the  years  of  his  childhood,  and  re- 
tained it  faithfully  through  his  life.    Through  the  school 


242  ENGLISH  HUMOURISTS 

and  through  the  world,  whithersoever  his  strange  fortune 
led  this  erring,  wayward,  affectionate  creature,  Joseph 
Addison  was  always  his  head  boy,  Addison  wrote  his 
exercises.  Addison  did  his  best  themes.  He  ran  on 
Addison's  messages:  fagged  for  him  and  blacked  his 
shoes:  to  be  in  Joe's  company  was  Dick's  greatest 
pleasure;  and  he  took  a  sermon  or  a  caning  from  his 
monitor  with  the  most  boundless  reverence,  acquiescence, 
and  affection.^ 

Steele  found  Addison  a  stately  college  Don  at  Ox- 
ford, and  himself  did  not  make  much  figure  at  this  place. 
He  wrote  a  comedy,  which,  by  the  advice  of  a  friend,  the 
humble  fellow  burned  there;  and  some  verses,  which  I 
dare  say  are  as  sublime  as  other  gentlemen's  composition 
at  that  age ;  but  being  smitten  with  a  sudden  love  for 
military  glory,  he  threw  up  the  cap  and  gown  for  the 
saddle  and  bridle,  and  rode  privately  in  the  Horse 
Guards,  in  the  Duke  of  Ormond's  troop — the  second — 
and,  probably,  with  the  rest  of  the  gentlemen  of  his 
troop,  "  all  mounted  on  black  horses  with  white  feathers 
in  their  hats,  and  scarlet  coats  richly  laced,"  marched  by 
King  William,  in  Hyde  Park,  in  November,  1699,  and 
a  great  show  of  the  nobility,  besides  twenty  thousand 
people,  and  above  a  thousand  coaches.  "  The  Guards 
had  just  got  their  new  clothes,"  the  London  Post  said: 
"  they  are  extraordinary  grand,  and  thought  to  be  the 
finest  body  of  horse  in  the  world."  But  Steele  could 
hardly  have  seen  any  actual  service.  He  who  wrote 
about  himself,  his  mother,  his  wife,  his  loves,  his  debts, 

^  "  Steele  had  the  greatest  veneration  for  Addison,  and  used  to  show  it,  in 
all  companies,  in  a  particular  manner.  Addison,  now  and  then,  used  to 
play  a  little  upon  him;  but  he  always  took  it  well."— Pope.  Spence's  Anec- 
dotes. 

"Sir  Richard  Steele  was  the  best-natured  creature  in  the  world:  even  in 
his  worst  state  of  health,  he  seemed  to  desire  nothing  but  to  please  and  be 
pleased."— Dr.  Youiio,    Spence's  Anecdotes. 


STEELE  243 

his  friends,  and  the  wine  he  drank,  would  have  told  us  of 
his  battles  if  he  had  seen  any.  His  old  patron,  Ormond, 
probably  got  him  his  cornetcy  in  the  Guards,  from  which 
he  was  promoted  to  be  a  captain  in  Lucas's  Fusiliers,  get- 
ting his  company  through  the  patronage  of  Lord  Cutts, 
whose  secretary  he  was,  and  to  whom  he  dedicated  his 
work  called  the  "  Christian  Hero."  As  for  Dick,  whilst 
writing  this  ardent  devotional  work,  he  was  deep  in  debt, 
in  drinkj  and  in  all  the  follies  of  the  town ;  it  is  related 
that  all  the  officers  of  Lucas's,  and  the  gentlemen  of  the 
Guards,  laughed  at  Dick.^    And  in  truth  a  theologian  in 

^  The  gaiety  of  his  dramatic  tone  may  be  seen  in  this  little  scene  between 
two  brilliant  sisters,  from  his  comedy  "  The  Funeral,  or  Grief  a  la  Mode." 
Dick  wrote  this,  he  said,  from  "  a  necessity  of  enlivening  his  character," 
which,  it  seemed,  the  "  Christian  Hero  "  had  a  tendency  to  make  too  decorous, 
grave,  and  respectable  in  the  eyes  of  readers  of  that  pious  piece. 
[Scene  drmos  and  discovers  Lady  Charlotte,  reading  at  a  table,— LiAdy 
Harriet,  playing  at  a  glass,  to  and  fro,  and  viewing  herself.] 

"  L.  //a.  — Nay,  good  sister,  you  may  as  well  talk  to  me  [looking  at  herself 
as  she  speaks]  as  sit  staring  at  a  book  which  I  know  you  can't  attend.— Good 
Dr.  Lucas  may  have  writ  there  what  he  pleases,  but  there's  no  putting  Fran- 
cis, Lord  Hardy,  now  Earl  of  Brumpton,  out  of  your  head,  or  making  him 
absent  from  your  eyes.    Do  but  look  on  me,  now,  and  deny  it  if  you  can. 

"  L.  Ch.— You  are  the  maddest  girl  [smiling]. 

"  L.  Ha.— hook  ye,  I  knew  you  could  not  say  it  and  forbear  laughing 
[looking  over  Charlotte].— Oh\  I  see  his  name  as  plain  as  you  do — F-r-a-n, 
Fran,— c-i-s,  cis,  Francis,  'tis  in  every  line  of  the  book. 

"  L.  Ch.  [rising]. — It's  in  vain,  I  see,  to  mind  anything  in  such  impertinent 
company—  but  granting  'twere  as  you  say,  as  to  my  Lord  Hardy — 'tis  more 
excusable  to  admire  another  than  oneself. 

"  L.  Ha.— 'So,  I  think  not,— yes,  I  grant  you,  than  really  to  be  vain  of 
one's  person,  but  I  don't  admire  myself— Pish!  I  don't  believe  my  eyes  to 
have  that  softness.  [Looking  in  the  glass.]  They  a'n't  so  piercing:  no,  'tis 
only  stuff,  the  men  will  be  talking.  — Some  people  are  such  admirers  of  teeth 
—  Lord,  what  signifies  teeth!  [Showing  her  teeth.]  A  very  black-a-moor 
has  as  white  a  set  of  teeth  as  L— No,  sister,  I  don't  admire  myself,  but  I've 
a  spirit  of  contradiction  in  me:  I  don't  know  I'm  in  love  with  myself,  only 
to  rival  the  men. 

"  L.  Ch.— Ay,  but  Mr.  Campley  will  gain  ground  ev'n  of  that  rival  of  his, 
your  dear  self. 

"  L.  Ha.— Oh,  what  have  I  done  to  you,  that  you  should  name  that  insolent 
intruder?  A  confident,  opinionative  fop.  No,  indeed,  if  I  am,  as  a  poetical 
lover  of  mine  sighed  and  sung  of  both  sexes, 

The  public  envy  and  the  public  care, 
I  shan't  be  so  easily  catched  — I  thank  him— I  want  but  to  be  sure  I  should 
heartily  torment  him  by  banishing  him,  and  then  consider  whether  he  should 
depart  this  life  or  not. 

"  L.  C7i.— Indeed,  sister,  to  be  serious  with  you,  this  vanity  in  your  humour 
does  not  at  all  become  you. 


244  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

liquor  is  not  a  respectable  object,  and  a  hermit,  though 
he  may  be  out  at  elbows,  must  not  be  in  debt  to  the  tailor. 
Steele  says  of  himself  that  he  was  always  sinning  and  re- 
penting. He  beat  his  breast  and  cried  most  piteously 
when  he  did  repent :  but  as  soon  as  crying  had  made  him 
thirsty,  he  fell  to  sinning  again.  In  that  charming  paper 
in  the  Tatler,  in  which  he  records  his  father's  death,  his 
mother's  griefs,  his  own  most  solemn  and  tender  emo- 
tions, he  says  he  is  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  a  hamper 
of  wine,  "  the  same  as  is  to  be  sold  at  Garraway's,  next 
week ; "  upon  the  receipt  of  which  he  sends  for  three 
friends,  and  they  fall  to  instantly,  "  drinking  two  bottles 
apiece,  with  great  benefit  to  themselves,  and  not  sepa- 
rating till  two  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

His  life  was  so.  Jack  the  drawer  was  always  inter- 
rupting it,  bringing  him  a  bottle  from  the  "  Rose,"  or  in- 
viting him  over  to  a  bout  there  with  Sir  Plume  and  Mr. 
Diver ;  and  Dick  wiped  his  eyes,  which  were  whimpering 
over  his  papers,  took  down  his  laced  hat,  put  on  his  sword 
and  wig,  kissed  his  wife  and  children,  told  them  a  lie 
about  pressing  business,  and  went  off  to  the  "  Rose  "  to 
the  jolly  fellows. 

"  L.  jffa.— Vanity!  All  the  matter  is,  we  gay  people  are  more  sincere  than 
you  wise  folks:  all  your  life's  an  art.— Speak  your  soul.— Look  you  there.— 
[Hauling  her  to  the  glass.]  Are  you  not  struck  with  a  secret  pleasure  when 
you  view  that  bloom  in  your  look,  that  harmony  in  your  shape,  that  prompti- 
tude in  your  mien? 

"  L.  CA.— Well,  simpleton,  if  I  am  at  first  so  simple  as  to  be  a  little  taken 
with  myself,  I  know  it  a  fault,  and  take  pains  to  correct  it. 

"  L.  Ha.— Pshaw  I  Pshaw!  Talk  this  musty  tale  to  old  Mrs.  Fardingale, 
'tis  too  soon  for  me  to  think  at  that  rate. 

"  L.  Ch.— They  that  think  it  too  soon  to  understand  themselves  will  very 
soon  find  it  too  late.— But  tell  me  honestly,  don't  you  like  Campley? 

"  L.  Ha.— The  fellow  is  not  to  be  abhorred,  if  the  forward  thing  did  not 
think  of  getting  me  so  easily.— Oh,  I  hate  a  heart  I  can't  break  when  I 
please.— What  makes  the  vahie  of  dear  china,  but  that  'tis  so  brittle?— were 
it  not  for  that,  you  might  as  well  have  stone  mugs  in  your  closet."— T/ie 
Funeral,  Oct.  2nd. 

"  We  knew  the  obligations  the  stage  had  to  his  writings  [  Steele's] ;  there 
being  scarcely  a  comedian  of  merit  in  our  whole  company  whom  his  Tatlers 
had  not  made  better  by  his  recommendation  of  them."— Gibber. 


STEELE  245 

While  Mr.  Addison  was  abroad,  and  after  he  came 
home  in  rather  a  dismal  way  to  wait  upon  Providence  in 
his  shabby  lodging  in  the  Haymarket,  young  Captain 
Steele  was  cutting  a  much  smarter  figure  than  that  of 
his  classical  friend  of  Charterhouse  Cloister  and  Maud- 
lin Walk.  Could  not  some  painter  give  an  interview 
between  the  gallant  captain  of  Lucas's,  with  his  hat 
cocked,  and  his  lace,  and  his  face  too,  a  trifle  tarnished 
with  drink,  and  that  poet,  that  philosopher,  pale,  proud, 
and  poor,  his  friend  and  monitor  of  school-days,  of  all 
days?  How  Dick  must  have  bragged  about  his  chances 
and  his  hopes,  and  the  fine  company  he  kept,  and  the 
charms  of  the  reigning  toasts  and  popular  actresses,  and 
the  number  of  bottles  that  he  and  my  lord  and  some 
other  pretty  fellows  had  cracked  overnight  at  the 
"Devil,"  or  the  "Garter!"  Cannot  one  fancy  Joseph 
Addison's  calm  smile  and  cold  grey  eyes  following  Dick 
for  an  instant,  as  he  struts  down  the  Mall,  to  dine  with 
the  Guard  at  St.  James's,  before  he  turns,  with  his  sober 
pace  and  threadbare  suit,  to  walk  back  to  his  lodgings  up 
the  two  pair  of  stairs?  Steele's  name  was  down  for  pro- 
motion, Dick  always  said  himself,  in  the  glorious,  pious, 
and  immortal  William's  last  table-book.  Jonathan 
Swift's  name  had  been  written  there  by  the  same  hand 
too. 

Our  worthy  friend,  the  author  of  the  "  Christian 
Hero,"  continued  to  make  no  small  figure  about  town 
by  the  use  of  his  wits.^  He  was  appointed  Gazetteer :  he 
wrote,  in  1703,  "  The  Tender  Husband,"  his  second  play, 

* "  There  is  not  now  in  his  sight  that  excellent  man,  whom  Heaven  made 
his  friend  and  superior,  to  be  at  a  certain  place  in  pain  for  what  he  should 
say  or  do.  I  will  go  on  in  his  further  encouragement.  The  best  woman  that 
ever  man  had  cannot  now  lament  and  pine  at  his  neglect  of  himself." — 
Steele  [of  himself] :  The  Theatre.    No.  12,  Feb.  1719-20. 


246  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

in  which  there  is  some  delightful  farcical  writing,  and 
of  which  he  fondly  owned  in  after-life,  and  when  Ad- 
dison was  no  more,  that  there  were  "  many  applauded 
strokes "  from  Addison's  beloved  hand.^  Is  it  not  a 
pleasant  partnership  to  remember  ?  Can't  one  fancy 
Steele  full  of  spirits  and  youth,  leaving  his  gay  company 
to  go  to  Addison's  lodging,  where  his  friend  sits  in  the 
shabby  sitting-room,  quite  serene,  and  cheerful,  and 
poor?  In  1704,  Steele  came  on  the  town  with  another 
comedy,  and  behold  it  was  so  moral  and  religious,  as 
poor  Dick  insisted,— so  dull  the  town  thought,— that  the 
*'  Lying  Lover  "  w^as  damned. 

Addison's  hour  of  success  now  came,  and  he  was  able 
to  help  our  friend  the  "  Christian  Hero  "  in  such  a  way, 
that,  if  there  had  been  any  chance  of  keeping  that  poor 
tipsy  champion  upon  his  legs,  his  fortune  was  safe,  and 
his  competence  assured.  Steele  procured  the  place  of 
Commissioner  of  Stamps:  he  wrote  so  richly,  so  grace- 
fully often,  so  kindly  always,  with  such  a  pleasant  wit 
and  easy  frankness,  with  such  a  gush  of  good  spirits  and 
good  humour,  that  his  early  papers  may  be  compared 
to  Addison's  own,  and  are  to  be  read,  by  a  male  reader 
at  least,  with  quite  an  equal  pleasure.^ 

* "  The  Funeral  "  supplies  an  admirable  stroke  of  humour,— one  which 
Sydney  Smith  has  used  as  an  illustration  of  the  faculty  in  his  Lectures. 

The  undertaker  is  talking  to  his  employes  ahout  their  duty. 

Sable.  —  "  Ha,  you!— A  little  more  upon  the  dismal  [fortning  their  counte- 
nances]; this  fellow  has  a  good  mortal  look,  —  place  him  near  the  corpse: 
that  wainscot-face  must  be  o'  top  of  the  stairs;  that  fellow's  almost  in  a 
fright  (that  looks  as  if  he  were  full  of  some  strange  misery)  at  the  end  of 
the  hall.  So— But  I'll  fix  you  all  myself.  Let's  have  no  laughing  now  on  any 
provocation.  Look  yonder,- that  hale,  well-looking  puppy!  You  ungrateful 
scoundrel,  did  not  I  pity  you,  take  you  out  of  a  great  man's  service,  and 
show  you  the  pleasure  of  receiving  wages?  Did  not  I  (/ii'e  you  ten,  then 
fifteen,  and  twenty  shillings  «  week  to  be  sorroicful?  —  and  the  more  I  give 
you  J  think  the  gladder  you  are!  " 

^"  From  my  own  Apartment,  Nov.  16. 

"  There  are  several  persons  who  have  many  pleasures  and  entertainments 
in  their  possession,  which  they  do  not  enjoy;  it  is,  therefore,  a  kind  and  good 


STEELE  247 

After  the  Tatler  in  1711,  the  famous  Spectator  made 
its  appearance,  and  this  was  followed,  at  various  in- 

office  to  acquaint  them  with  their  own  happiness,  and  turn  their  attention 
to  such  instances  of  their  good  fortune  as  they  are  apt  to  overlook.  Persons 
in  the  married  state  often  want  such  a  monitor;  and  pine  away  their  days 
by  looliing  upon  the  same  condition  in  anguish  and  murmuring,  which  carries 
with  it,  in  the  opinion  of  others,  a  complication  of  all  the  pleasures  of  life, 
and  a  retreat  from  its  inquietudes. 

"  I  am  led  into  this  thought  by  a  visit  I  made  to  an  old  friend  who  was 
formerly  my  schoolfellow.  He  came  to  town  last  week,  with  his  family,  for 
the  winter;  and  yesterday  morning  sent  me  word  his  wife  expected  me  to 
dinner.  I  am,  as  it  were,  at  home  at  that  house,  and  every  member  of  it 
knows  me  for  their  well-wisher.  I  cannot,  indeed,  express  the  pleasure  it  is 
to  be  met  by  the  children  with  so  much  joy  as  I  am  when  I  go  thither.  The 
boys  and  girls  strive  who  shall  come  first,  when  they  think  it  is  I  that  am 
knocking  at  the  door;  and  that  child  which  loses  the  race  to  me  runs  back 
again  to  tell  the  father  it  is  Mr.  Bickerstaff.  This  day  I  was  led  in  by  a 
pretty  girl  that  we  all  thought  must  have  forgot  me;  for  the  familj'  has  been 
out  of  town  these  two  years.  Her  knowing  me  again  was  a  mighty  subject 
with  us,  and  took  up  our  discourse  at  the  first  entrance;  after  which,  they 
began  to  rally  me  upon  a  thousand  little  stories  they  heard  in  the  country, 
about  my  marriage  to  one  of  my  neighbours'  daughters;  upon  which,  the 
gentleman,  my  friend,  said,  '  Nay;  if  Mr.  Bickerstaff  marries  a  child  of  any 
of  his  old  companions,  I  hope  mine  shall  have  the  preference;  there  is  Mrs. 
Mary  is  now  sixteen,  and  would  make  him  as  fine  a  widow  as  the  best  of 
them.  But  1  know  him  too  well;  he  is  so  enamoured  with  the  very  memory 
of  those  who  flourished  in  our  youth,  that  he  will  not  so  much  as  look  upon 
the  modern  beauties.  I  remember,  old  gentleman,  how  often  you  went  home 
in  a  day  to  refresh  your  countenance  and  dress  when  Teraminta  reigned  in 
your  heart.  As  we  came  up  in  the  coach,  I  repeated  to  my  wife  some  of 
your  verses  on  her.'  With  such  reflections  on  little  passages  which  happened 
long  ago,  we  passed  our  time  during  a  cheerful  and  elegant  meal.  After 
dinner  his  lady  left  the  room,  as  did  also  the  children.  As  soon  as  we  were 
alone,  he  took  me  by  the  hand:  '  Well,  my  good  friend,'  says  he,  '  I  am  heartily 
glad  to  see  thee;  I  was  afraid  you  would  never  have  seen  all  the  company 
that  dined  with  you  to-day  again.  Do  not  you  think  the  good  woman  of  the 
house  a  little  altered  since  you  followed  her  from  the  playhouse  to  find  out 
who  she  was  for  me? '  I  perceived  a  tear  fall  down  his  cheek  as  he  spoke, 
which  moved  me  not  a  little.  But,  to  turn  the  discourse,  I  said,  '  She  is  not, 
indeed,  that  creature  she  was  when  she  returned  me  the  letter  I  carried 
from  you,  and  told  me,  "  She  hoped,  as  I  was  a  gentleman,  I  would  be  em- 
ployed no  more  to  trouble  her,  who  had  never  offended  me;  but  would  be  so 
much  the  gentleman's  friend  as  to  dissuade  him  from  a  pursuit  which  he 
could  never  succeed  in."  You  may  remember  I  thought  her  in  earnest,  and 
you  were  forced  to  employ  your  cousin  Will,  who  made  his  sister  get  ac- 
quainted with  her  for  you.  You  cannot  expect  her  to  be  for  ever  fifteen.' 
'Fifteen!'  replied  my  good  friend.  'Ah!  you  little  understand— you,  that 
have  lived  a  bachelor— how  great,  how  exquisite  a  pleasure  there  is  in  being 
really  beloved!  It  is  impossible  that  the  most  beauteous  face  in  nature 
should  raise  in  me  such  pleasing  ideas  as  when  I  look  upon  that  excellent 
woman.  That  fading  in  her  countenance  is  chiefly  caused  by  her  watching 
with  me  in  my  fever.  This  was  followed  by  a  fit  of  sickness,  which  had  like 
to  have  carried  me  off  last  winter.  I  tell  you,  sincerely,  I  have  so  many 
obligations  to  her  that  I  cannot,  with  any  sort  of  moderation,  think  of  her 
present  state  of  health.  But,  as  to  what  you  say  of  fifteen,  she  gives  me 
every  day  pleasure  beyond  what  I  ever  knew  in  the  possession  of  her  beauty 


248  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

tervals,  by  many  periodicals  under  the  same  editor— the 
Guardian— W\e    Englishman— the    Lover,  whose    love 

when  I  was  in  the  vigour  of  youth.  Every  moment  of  her  life  brings  me 
fresh  instances  of  her  complacency  to  my  inclinations,  and  her  prudence  in 
regard  to  my  fortune.  Her  face  is  to  me  much  more  beautiful  than  when  I 
first  saw  it;  there  is  no  decay  in  any  feature  which  I  cannot  trace  from  the 
very  instant  it  was  occasioned  by  some  anxious  concern  for  my  welfare  and 
interests.  Thus,  at  the  same  time,  methinks,  the  love  I  conceived  towards 
her  for  what  she  was,  is  heightened  by  my  gratitude  for  what  she  is.  The 
love  of  a  wife  is  as  much  above  the  idle  passion  commonly  called  by  that 
name,  as  the  loud  laughter  of  butfoons  is  inferior  to  the  elegant  mirth  of  gen- 
tlemen. Oh!  she  is  an  inestimable  jewel!  In  her  examination  of  her  house- 
hold affairs,  she  shows  a  certain  fearfulness  to  find  a  fault,  which  makes  her 
servants  obey  her  like  children;  and  the  meanest  we  have  has  an  ingenuous 
shame  for  an  offence  not  always  to  be  seen  in  children  in  other  families.  I 
speak  freely  to  you,  my  old  friend;  ever  since  her  sickness,  things  that  gave 
me  the  quickest  joy  before  turn  now  to  a  certain  anxiety.  As  the  children 
play  in  the  next  room,  I  know  the  poor  things  by  their  steps,  and  am  consid- 
ering what  they  must  do  should  they  lose  their  mother  in  their  tender  years. 
The  pleasure  I  used  to  take  in  telling  my  boy  stories  of  battles,  and  asking 
my  girl  questions  about  the  disposal  of  her  baby,  and  the  gossiping  of  it, 
is  turned  into  inward  reflection  and  melancholy.' 

"  He  would  have  gone  on  in  this  tender  way,  when  the  good  lady  entered, 
and,  with  an  inexpressible  sweetness  in  her  countenance,  told  us  '  she  had 
been  searching  her  closet  for  something  very  good  to  treat  such  an  old 
friend  as  I  was.'  Her  husband's  eyes  sparkled  with  pleasure  at  the  cheerful- 
ness of  her  countenance;  and  I  saw  all  his  fears  vanish  in  an  instant.  The 
lady  observing  something  in  our  looks  which  showed  we  had  been  more  seri- 
ous than  ordinary,  and  seeing  her  husband  receive  her  with  great  concern 
under  a  forced  cheerfulness,  immediately  guessed  at  what  we  had  been 
talking  of;  and  applying  herself  to  me,  said,  with  a  smile,  '  Mr.  Bickerstaff, 
do  not  believe  a  word  of  what  he  tells  you;  I  shall  still  live  to  have  you 
for  my  second,  as  I  have  often  promised  you,  unless  he  takes  more  care  of 
himself  than  he  has  done  since  his  coming  to  town.  You  must  know  he  tells 
me,  that  he  finds  London  is  a  much  more  healthy  place  than  the  country?  for 
he  sees  several  of  his  old  acquaintances  and  schoolfellows  are  here— young 
fellows  icith  fair,  full-bottomed  periwigs.  I  could  scarce  keep  him  this 
morning  from  going  out  open-breasted.'  My  friend,  who  is  always  extremely 
delighted  with  her  agreeable  humour,  made  her  sit  down  with  us.  She  did  it 
with  that  easiness  which  is  peculiar  to  women  of  sense;  and  to  keep  up  the 
good  humour  she  had  brought  in  with  her,  turned  her  raillery  upon  me.  '  Mr. 
Bickerstaff,  you  remember  you  followed  me  one  night  from  the  playhouse; 
suppose  you  should  carry  me  thither  to-morrow  night,  and  lead  me  in  the 
front  box.'  This  put  us  into  a  long  field  of  discourse  about  the  beauties  who 
were  the  mothers  to  the  present,  and  shined  in  the  boxes  twenty  years  ago. 
I  told  her,  '  I  was  glad  she  had  transferred  so  many  of  her  charms,  and  I 
did  not  question  but  her  eldest  daughter  was  within  half-a-year  of  being  a 
toast.' 

"We  were  pleasing  ourselves  with  this  fantastical  preferment  of  the 
young  lady,  when,  on  a  sudden,  we  were  alarmed  with  the  noise  of  a  drum, 
and  immediately  entered  my  little  godson  to  give  me  a  point  of  war.  His 
mother,  between  laughing  and  chiding,  would  have  him  put  out  of  the  room; 
iaut  I  would  not  part  with  him  so.  I  found,  upon  conversation  with  him, 
though  he  was  a  little  noisy  in  his  mirth,  that  the  child  had  excellent  parts, 
and  was  a  great  master  of  all  the  learning  on  the  other  side  of  eight  years 
old.     I  perceived  him  a  very  great  liistorian  in  '  /Esop's   Fables ; '   but   he 


STEELE  249 

was  rather  Insipid— the  Reader,  of  whom  the  public  saw 
no  more  after  his  second  appearance— the  Theatre, 
under  the  pseudonym  of  Sir  John  Edgar,  which  Steele 
wrote  while  Governor  of  the  Royal  Company  of  Come- 
dians, to  which  post,  and  to  that  of  Surveyor  of  the 
Royal  Stables  at  Hampton  Court,  and  to  the  Commis- 
sion of  the  Peace  for  Middlesex,  and  to  the  honour 
of  knighthood,  Steele  had  been  preferred  soon  after  the 
accession  of  George  I.;  whose  cause  honest  Dick  had 
nobly  fought,  through  disgrace,  and  danger,  against 
the  most  formidable  enemies,  against  traitors  and 
bullies,  against  Bolingbroke  and  Swift  in  the  last 
reign.  With  the  arrival  of  the  King,  that  s^Dlendid 
conspiracy  broke  up ;  and  a  golden  opportunity  came  to 
Dick  Steele,  whose  hand,  alas,  was  too  careless  to  gripe 
it. 

Steele  married  twice;   and   outlived  his   places,   his 
schemes,  his  wife,  his  income,  his  health,  and  almost 

frankly  declared  to  me  his  mind,  '  that  he  did  not  delight  in  that  learning, 
because  he  did  not  believe  they  were  true; '  for  which  reason  I  found  he  had 
very  much  turned  his  studies,  for  about  a  twelvemonth  past,  into  the  lives  of 
Don  Bellianis  of  Greece,  Guy  of  Warwick,  '  the  Seven  Champions,'  and 
other  historians  of  that  age.  I  could  not  but  observe  the  satisfaction  the 
father  took  in  the  forwardness  of  his  son,  and  that  these  diversions  might 
turn  to  some  profit.  I  found  the  boy  had  made  remarks  which  might  be  of 
service  to  him  during  the  course  of  his  whole  life.  He  would  tell  you  the 
mismanagement  of  John  Hickerthrift,  find  fault  with  the  passionate  temper 
in  Bevis  of  Southampton,  and  loved  St.  George  for  being  the  champion  of 
England;  and  by  this  means  had  his  thoughts  insensibly  moulded  into  the 
notions  of  discretion,  virtue,  and  honour.  I  was  extolling  his  accomplish- 
ments, when  his  mother  told  me  '  that  the  little  girl  who  led  me  in  this  morn- 
ing was,  in  her  way,  a  better  scholar  than  he.  Betty,'  said  she,  '  deals  chiefly 
in  fairies  and  sprights;  and  sometimes  in  a  winter  night  will  terrify  the 
maids  with  her  accounts,  until  they  are  afraid  to  go  up  to  bed.' 

"  I  sat  with  them  until  it  was  very  late,  sometimes  in  merry  sometimes  in 
serious  discourse,  with  this  particular  pleasure,  which  gives  the  only  true 
relish  to  all  conversation,  a  sense  that  every  one  of  us  liked  each  other.  I 
went  home,  considering  the  diflferent  conditions  of  a  married  life  and  that 
of  a  bachelor;  and  I  must  confess  it  struck  me  with  a  secret  concern,  to 
reflect,  that  whenever  I  go  oif  I  shall  leave  no  traces  behind  me.  In  this 
pensive  mood  I  return  to  my  family;  that  is  to  say,  to  my  maid,  my  dog,  my 
cat,  who  only  can  be  the  better  or  worse  for  what  happens  to  me."— The 
Taller. 


250  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

everything  but  his  kind  heart.  That  ceased  to  trouble 
him  in  1729,  when  he  died,  worn  out  and  almost  forgot- 
ten by  his  contemporaries,  in  Wales,  where  he  had  the 
remnant  of  a  property. 

Posterity  has  been  kinder  to  this  amiable  creature; 
all  women  especially  are  bound  to  be  grateful  to  Steele, 
as  he  was  the  first  of  our  writers  who  realty  seemed  to 
admire  and  respect  them.  Congreve  the  Great,  who 
alludes  to  the  low  estimation  in  which  women  were  held 
in  Elizabeth's  time,  as  a  reason  why  the  women  of 
Shakspeare  make  so  small  a  figure  in  the  poet's  dia- 
logues, though  he  can  himself  pay  splendid  comph- 
ments  to  women,  j^et  looks  on  them  as  mere  instruments 
of  gallantry,  and  destined,  like  the  most  consummate 
fortifications,  to  fall,  after  a  certain  time,  before  the 
arts  and  bravery  of  the  besieger,  man.  There  is  a  letter 
of  Swift's,  entitled  "  Advice  to  a  very  Young  Married 
Lady,"  which  shows  the  Dean's  opinion  of  the  female 
society  of  his  day,  and  that  if  he  despised  man  he  utterly 
scorned  women  too.  No  lady  of  our  time  could  be 
treated  by  any  man,  were  he  ever  so  much  a  wit  or  Dean, 
in  such  a  tone  of  insolent  patronage  and  vulgar  pro- 
tection. In  this  performance,  Swift  hardly  takes  pains 
to  hide  his  opinion  that  a  woman  is  a  fool:  tells  her  to 
read  books,  as  if  reading  was  a  novel  accomplishment; 
and  informs  her  that  "  not  one  gentleman's  daughter  in 
a  thousand  has  been  brought  to  read  or  understand  her 
own  natural  tongue."  Addison  laughs  at  women 
equally;  but,  with  the  gentleness  and  politeness  of  his 
nature,  smiles  at  them  and  watches  them,  as  if  they  were 
harmless,  half-witted,  amusing,  pretty  creatures,  only 
made  to  be  men's  playthings.  It  was  Steele  who  first 
began  to  pay  a  manly  homage  to  their  goodness  and 


STEELE  251 

understanding,  as  well  as  to  their  tenderness  and 
beauty.^  In  his  comedies,  the  heroes  do  not  rant  and 
rave  about  the  divine  beauties  of  Gloriana  or  Statira, 
as  the  characters  were  made  to  do  in  the  chivalry  ro- 
mances and  the  high-flown  dramas  just  going  out  of 
vogue;  but  Steele  admires  women's  virtue,  acknowl- 
edges their  sense,  and  adores  their  purity  and  beauty, 
with  an  ardour  and  strength  which  should  win  the  good- 
will of  all  women  to  their  hearty  and  respectful  cham- 
pion. It  is  this  ardour,  this  respect,  this  manliness, 
which  makes  his  comedies  so  pleasant  and  their  heroes 
such  fine  gentlemen.  He  paid  the  finest  compliment  to 
a  woman  that  perhaps  ever  was  offered.  Of  one  woman, 
whom  Congreve  had  also  admired  and  celebrated, 
Steele  says,  that  "to  have  loved  her  was  a  liberal  edu- 
cation." "  How  often,"  he  says,  dedicating  a  volume 
to  his  wife,  "  how  often  has  your  tenderness  removed 
pain  from  my  sick  head,  how  often  anguish  from  my 
afflicted  heart!  If  there  are  such  beings  as  guardian 
angels,  they  are  thus  employed.  I  cannot  believe  one 
of  them  to  be  more  good  in  inclination,  or  more  charm- 
ing in  form  than  my  wife."  His  breast  seems  to  warm 
and  his  eyes  to  kindle  when  he  meets  with  a  good  and 
beautiful  woman,  and  it  is  with  his  heart  as  well  as  with 
his  hat  that  he  salutes  her.  About  children,  and  all  that 
relates  to  home,  he  is  not  less  tender,  and  more  than 

^  "  As  to  the  pursuits  after  affection  and  esteem,  the  fair  sex  are  happy  in 
this  particular,  that  with  them  the  one  is  much  more  nearly  related  to  the 
other  than  in  men.  The  love  of  a  woman  is  inseparable  from  some  esteem 
of  her;  and  as  she  is  naturally  the  object  of  affection,  the  woman  who  has 
your  esteem  has  also  some  degree  of  your  love.  A  man  that  dotes  on  a 
woman  for  her  beauty,  will  whisper  his  friend,  '  That  creature  has  a  great 
deal  of  wit  when  you  are  well  acquainted  with  her.'  And  if  you  examine  the 
bottom  of  your  esteem  for  a  woman,  you  will  find  you  have  a  greater  opinion 
of  her  beauty  than  anj'body  else.  As  to  us  men,  I  design  to  pass  most  of  my 
time  with  the  facetious  Harry  Bickerstaflf;  but  William  Bickerstalf,  the  most 
prudent  man  of  our  family,  shall  be  my  executor."  — Tai/er,  No.  206. 


252  ENGLISH  HUMOURISTS 

once  speaks  in  apology  of  what  he  calls  his  softness. 
He  would  have  been  nothing  without  that  delightful 
weakness.  It  is  that  which  gives  his  works  their  worth 
and  his  style  its  charm.  It,  like  his  life,  is  full  of  faults 
and  careless  blunders;  and  redeemed,  like  that,  by  his 
sweet  and  compassionate  nature. 

We  possess  of  poor  Steele's  wild  and  chequered  life 
some  of  the  most  curious  memoranda  that  ever  were 
left  of  a  man's  biography.^  Most  men's  letters,  from 
Cicero  down  to  Walpole,  or  down  to  the  great  men  of 

*  The  Correspondence  of  Steele  passed  after  his  death  into  the  possession 
of  his  daughter  Elizabeth,  by  his  second  wife,  Miss  Scurlock,  of  Carmarthen- 
shire. She  married  the  Hon.  John,  afterwards  third  Lord  Trevor.  At  her 
death,  part  of  the  letters  passed  to  Mr.  Thomas,  a  grandson  of  a  natural 
daughter  of  Steele's;  and  part  to  Lady  Trevor's  next  of  kin,  Mr.  Scurlock. 
They  were  published  by  the  learned  Nichols— from  whose  later  edition  of 
them,  in  1809,  our  specimens  are  quoted. 

Here  we  have  him,  in  his  courtship — which  was  not  a  very  long  one: — 

"  To  Mrs.  Scurlock. 
"Madam,—  "Aug.  30,  1707. 

"  I  BEG  pardon  that  my  paper  is  not  finer,  but  I  am  forced  to  write  from 
a  coflPee-house,  where  I  am  attending  about  business.  There  is  a  dirty  crowd 
of  busy  faces  all  around  me,  talking  of  money;  while  all  my  ambition,  all 
my  wealth,  is  love !  Love  which  animates  my  heart,  sweetens  my  humour,  en- 
larges my  soul,  and  affects  every  action  of  my  life.  It  is  to  my  lovely 
charmer  I  owe,  that  many  noble  ideas  are  continually  affixed  to  my  words 
and  actions;  it  is  the  natural  effect  of  that  generous  passion  to  create  in 
the  admirer  some  similitude  of  the  object  admired.  Thus,  my  dear,  am  I 
every  day  to  improve  from  so  sweet  a  companion.  Look  up,  my  fair  one,  to 
that  Heaven  which  made  thee  such;  and  join  with  me  to  implore  its  influence 
on  our  tender  innocent  hours,  and  beseech  the  Author  of  love  to  bless  the 
rites  He  has  ordained— and  mingle  with  our  happiness  a  just  sense  of  our 
transient  condition,  and  a  resignation  to  His  will,  which  only  can  regulate 
our  minds  to  a  steady  endeavour  to  please  Him  and  each  other. 

"  I  am  for  ever  your  faithful  servant, 

"  Rich.    Steele." 

Some  few  hours  afterwards,  apparently,  Mistress  Scurlock  received  the 
next  one— obviously  written  later  in  the  day!— 

"Dear,  Lovely  Mrs.  Scurlock,—  "Saturday  night  (Aug.  30,  1707). 

"  I  HAVE  been  in  very  good  company,  where  your  he;ilth,  under  the  char- 
acter of  the  woman  I  loved  best,  has  been  often  drunk;  so  that  I  may  say 
that  I  am  dead  drunk  for  your  sake,  which  is  more  than  /  die  for  you. 

"  Rich.  Steele." 
"  To  Mrs.  Scurlock. 
"Madam,—  "Sept.  1,  1707. 

"  It  is  the  hardest  thing  in  the  world  to  be  in  love,  and  yet  attend  business. 
As  for  me,  all  who  speak  to  me  find  me  out,  and  I  must  lock  myself  up,  or 
other  people  will  do  it  for  me. 


STEELE  253 

our  own  time,  if  you  will,  are  doctored  compositions,  and 
written  with  an  eye  suspicious  towards  posterity.    That 

"A  gentleman  asked  me  this  morning,  'What  news  from  Lisbon?'  and  I 
answered,  '  She  is  exquisitely  handsome.'  Another  desired  to  know  '  when  I 
had  last  been  at  Hampton  Court  ? '  I  replied,  '  It  will  be  on  Tuesday  come 
se'nnight.'  Pr'ythee  allow  me  at  least  to  kiss  your  hand  before  that  day, 
that  my  mind  may  be  in  some  composure.    O  Love! 

'  A  thousand  torments  dwell  about  thee. 
Yet  who  could  live,  to  live  without  thee?' 

"  Methinks  I  could  write  a  volume  to  you ;  but  all  the  language  on  earth 
would  fail  in  saying  how  much,  and  with  what  disinterested  passion, 

"  I  am  ever  yours, 

"  Rich.  Steele." 

Two  days  after  this,  he  is  found  expounding  his  circumstances  and  pros- 
pects to  the  young  lady's  mamma.  He  dates  from  "  Lord  Sunderland's  office, 
Whitehall;"  and  states  his  clear  income  at  1,025/.  per  annum.  "I  promise 
myself,"  says  he,  "  the  pleasure  of  an  industrious  and  virtuous  life,  in 
studying  to  do  things  agreeable  to  you." 

They  were  married,  according  to  the  most  probable  conjectures,  about  the 
7th  Sept.  There  are  traces  of  a  tiflf  about  the  middle  of  the  next  month; 
she  being  prudish  and  fidgety,  as  he  was  impassioned  and  reckless.  General 
progress,  however,  may  be  seen  from  the  following  notes.  The  "  house  in 
Bury  Street,  St.  James's,"  was  now  taken. 

"  To  Mrs.  Steele. 
"  Dearest  Beikg  on  Earth, —  "  Oct.  16,  1707. 

"  Pardon  me  if  you  do  not  see  me  till  eleven  o'clock,  having  met  a  school- 
fellow from  India,  by  whom  I  am  to  be  informed  on  things  this  night  which 
expressly  concern  your  obedient  husband, 

"  Rich.  Steele." 
"  To  Mrs.  Steele. 

"  Eight  o'clock,  Fountain  Tavern, 
"  My  Dear,—  Oct.  22,  1707. 

"  I  BEG  of  you  not  to  be  uneasy;  for  I  have  done  a  great  deal  of  business 
to-day  very  successfully,  and  wait  an  hour  or  two  about  my  Gazette," 

"  My  dear,  dear  Wife, —  "  Dec.  22,  1707. 

"  I  write  to  let  you  know  I  do  not  come  home  to  dinner,  being  obliged 
to  attend  some  business  abroad,  of  which  I  shall  give  you  an  account  (when 
I  see  you  in  the  evening),  as  becomes  your  dutiful  and  obedient  husband." 

"  Devil  Tavern,  Temple  Bar, 
"Dear  Prue,—  Jan.  3,  1707-8. 

"I  have  partly  succeeded  in  my  business  to-day,  and  inclose  two  guineas 
as  earnest  of  more.  Dear  Prue,  I  cannot  come  home  to  dinner.  I  languish 
for  your  welfare,  and  will  never  be  a  moment  careless  more. 

"  Your  faithful  husband,"  &c. 

"  Dear  Wife,—  "  Jan.  14,  1707-8. 

"  Mr.  Edgecombe,  Ned  Ask,  and  Mr.  Lumley  have  desired  me  to  sit  an 
hour  with  them  at  the  '  George,'  in  Pall  Mall,  for  which  I  desire  your  pa- 
tience till  twelve  o'clock,  and  that  you  will  go  to  bed,"  &c. 


254  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

dedication  of  Steele's  to  his  wife  is  an  artificial  per- 
formance, i^ossibly;  at  least,  it  is  written  with  that  de- 
gree of  artifice  which  an  orator  uses  in  arranging  a 
statement  for  the  House,  or  a  poet  employs  in  preparing 
a  sentiment  in  verse  or  for  the  stage.  But  there  are 
some  400  letters  of  Dick  Steele's  to  his  wife,  which  that 
thrifty  woman  preserved  accurately,  and  which  could 
have  been  written  but  for  her  and  her  alone.  Thej^  con- 
tain details  of  the  business,  pleasures,  quarrels,  recon- 
ciliations of  the  pair;  they  have  all  the  genuineness  of 
conversation;  they  are  as  artless  as  a  child's  prattle, 
and  as  confidential  as  a  curtain-lecture.  Some  are 
written  from  the  printing-office,  where  he  is  waiting  for 
the  proof-sheets  of  his  Gazette,  or  his  Tatler;  some  are 
written  from  the  tavern,  whence  he  promises  to  come  to 

"Dear  Prue,—  "Gray's  Inn,  Feb.  3,  1708. 

"  If  the  man  who  has  my  shoemaker's  bill  calls,  let  him  be  answered  that 
I  shall  call  on  him  as  I  come  home.  I  stay  here  in  order  to  get  Jonson  to  dis- 
count a  bill  for  me,  and  shall  dine  with  him  for  that  end.  He  is  expected  at 
home  every  minute.    Your  most  humble,  obedient  servant,"  &c. 

"  Dear  Wife, —  "  Tennis-court  Coffee-house,  May  5,  1708. 

"  I  hope  I  have  done  this  day  what  will  be  pleasing  to  you ;  in  the  mean- 
time shall  lie  this  night  at  a  baker's,  one  Leg,  over  against  the  '  Devil  Tav- 
ern,' at  Charing  Cross.  I  shall  be  able  to  confront  the  fools  who  wish  me 
uneasy,  and  shall  have  the  satisfaction  to  see  thee  cheerful  and  at  ease. 

"If  the  printer's  boy  be  at  home,  send  him  liither;  and  let  Mrs.  Todd  send 
by  the  boy  my  night-gown,  slippers,  and  clean  linen.  You  shall  hear  from 
me  early  in  the  morning,"  &c. 

Dozens  of  similar  letters  follow,  with  occasional  guineas,  little  parcels  of 
tea,  or  walnuts,  &c.  In  1709  the  Tatler  made  its  appearance.  The  following 
curious  note  dates  April  7th,  1710:  — 

"I  inclose  to  j'ou  ['Dear  Prue']  a  receipt  for  the  saucepan  and  spoon, 
and  a  note  of  23^  of  Lewis's,  which  will  make  up  the  50/,  I  promised  for 
your  ensuing  occasion. 

"  I  know  no  happiness  in  this  life  in  any  degree  comparable  to  the  pleasure 
I  have  in  your  person  and  society.  I  only  beg  of  you  to  add  to  your  other 
charms  a  fearfulness  to  see  a  man  that  loves  you  in  pain  and  uneasiness,  to 
make  me  as  happy  as  it  is  possible  to  be  in  this  life.  Rising  a  little  in  a 
morning,  and  being  disposed  to  a  cheerfulness would  not  be  amiss." 

In  another,  he  is  found  excusing  his  coming  home,  being  "  invited  to  sup- 
per to  Mr.  Boyle's."  "  Dear  Prue,"  he  says  on  tliis  occasion,  "  do  not  send 
after  me,  for  I  shall  be  ridiculous." 


STEELE  255 

his  wife  "  within  a  pint  of  wine,"  and  where  he  has  given 
a  rendezvous  to  a  friend,  or  a  money-lender:  some  are 
composed  in  a  high  state  of  vinous  excitement,  when 
his  head  is  flustered  with  burgundy,  and  his  heart 
abounds  with  amorous  warmth  for  his  darling  Prue: 
some  are  under  the  influence  of  the  dismal  headache  and 
repentance  next  morning :  some,  alas,  are  from  the  lock- 
up house,  where  the  lawj^ers  have  impounded  him,  and 
where  he  is  waiting  for  bail.  You  trace  many  years  of 
the  poor  fellow's  career  in  these  letters.  In  September, 
1707,  from  which  day  she  began  to  save  the  letters,  he 
married  the  beautiful  Mistress  Scurlock.  You  have 
his  passionate  protestations  to  the  lady;  his  respectful 
proposals  to  her  mamma;  his  private  prayer  to  Heaven 
when  the  union  so  ardently  desired  was  completed;  his 
fond  professions  of  contrition  and  promises  of  amend- 
ment, when,  immediately  after  his  marriage,  there 
began  to  be  just  cause  for  the  one  and  need  for  the 
other. 

Captain  Steele  took  a  house  for  his  lady  upon  their 
marriage,  "  the  third  door  from  Germain  Street,  left 
hand  of  Berry  Street,"  and  the  next  year  he  presented 
his  wife  with  a  country  house  at  Hampton.  It  appears 
she  had  a  chariot  and  pair,  and  sometimes  four  horses: 
he  himself  enjoyed  a  little  horse  for  his  own  riding. 
He  paid,  or  promised  to  pay,  his  barber  fifty  pounds 
a  year,  and  always  went  abroad  in  a  laced  coat  and  a 
large  black  buckled  periwig,  that  must  have  cost  some- 
body fifty  guineas.  He  was  rather  a  well-to-do  gentle- 
man. Captain  Steele,  with  the  proceeds  of  his  estates  in 
Barbadoes  (left  to  him  by  his  first  wife),  his  income  as 
a  writer  of  the  Gazette,  and  his  office  of  gentleman 
waiter  to  his  Royal  Highness  Prince  George.     His 


256  ENGLISH  HUMOURISTS 

second  wife  brought  him  a  fortune  too.  But  it  is  melan- 
choly to  relate,  that  with  these  houses  and  chariots  and 
liorses  and  income,  the  Captain  was  constantly  in  want 
of  money,  for  which  his  beloved  bride  was  asking  as 
constantly.  In  the  course  of  a  few  pages  we  begin  to 
find  the  shoemaker  calling  for  money,  and  some  direc- 
tions from  the  Captain,  who  has  not  thirty  pounds  to 
spare.  He  sends  his  wife,  "  the  beautifullest  object  in 
the  world,"  as  he  calls  her,  and  evidently  in  reply  to 
applications  of  her  own,  which  have  gone  the  way  of  all 
waste  paper,  and  lighted  Dick's  pipes,  which  were 
smoked  a  hundred  and  forty  years  ago— he  sends  his 
wife  now  a  guinea,  then  a  half -guinea,  then  a  couple 
of  guineas,  then  half  a  pound  of  tea;  and  again  no 
money  and  no  tea  at  all,  but  a  promise  that  his  darling 
Prue  shall  have  some  in  a  day  or  two:  or  a  request, 
perhaps,  that  she  will  send  over  his  night-gown  and 
shaving-plate  to  the  temporary  lodging  where  the 
nomadic  Captain  is  lying,  hidden  from  the  baihffs. 
Oh!  that  a  Christian  hero  and  late  Captain  in  Lucas's 
should  be  afraid  of  a  dirty  sheriff's  officer!  That  the 
pink  and  pride  of  chivalry  should  turn  pale  before  a 
writ !  It  stands  to  record  in  poor  Dick's  own  handwrit- 
ing—the queer  collection  is  preserved  at  the  British 
Museum  to  this  present  day— that  the  rent  of  the  nup- 
tial house  in  Jermyn  Street,  sacred  to  unutterable  ten- 
derness and  Prue,  and  three  doors  from  Bury  Street, 
was  not  paid  until  after  the  landlord  had  put  in  an 
execution  on  Captain  Steele's  furniture.  Addison  sold 
the  house  and  furniture  at  Hampton,  and,  after  deduct- 
ing the  sum  in  which  his  incorrigible  friend  was  indebted 
to  him,  handed  over  the  residue  of  the  proceeds  of  the 
sale  to  poor  Dick,  who  wasn't  in  the  least  angry  at  Addi- 


STEELE  257 

son's  summary  proceeding,  and  I  dare  say  was  very 
glad  of  any  sale  or  execution,  the  result  of  which  was  to 
give  him  a  little  ready  money.  Having  a  small  house 
in  Jermyn  Street  for  which  he  couldn't  pay,  and  a  coun- 
try house  at  Hampton  on  which  he  had  borrowed  money, 
nothing  must  content  Captain  Dick  but  the  taking,  in 
1712,  a  much  finer,  larger,  and  grander  house,  in 
Bloomsbury  Square;  where  his  unhappy  landlord  got 
no  better  satisfaction  than  his  friend  in  St.  James's, 
and  where  it  is  recorded  that  Dick,  giving  a  grand  en- 
tertainment, had  a  half-dozen  queer-looking  fellows  in 
livery  to  wait  upon  his  noble  guests,  and  confessed  that 
his  servants  were  bailiffs  to  a  man.  "  I  fared  like  a 
distressed  prince,"  the  kindly  prodigal  writes,  gener- 
ously complimenting  Addison  for  his  assistance  in  the 
Tatler,—"  1  fared  like  a  distressed  prince,  who  calls  in 
a  powerful  neighbour  to  his  aid.  I  was  undone  by  my 
auxiliary;  when  I  had  once  called  him  in,  I  could  not 
subsist  without  dependence  on  him."  Poor,  needy 
Prince  of  Bloomsbury!  think  of  him  in  his  palace,  with 
his  allies  from  Chancery  Lane  ominously  guarding  him. 

All  sorts  of  stories  are  told  indicative  of  his  reckless- 
ness and  his  good  humour.  One  narrated  by  Dr. 
Hoadly  is  exceedingly  characteristic;  it  shows  the  life 
of  the  time:  and  our  poor  friend  very  weak,  but  verj^ 
kind  both  in  and  out  of  his  cups. 

"My  father,"  says  Dr.  John  Hoadly,  the  Bishop's 
son,  "  when  Bishop  of  Bangor,  was,  by  invitation,  pres- 
ent at  one  of  the  Whig  meetings,  held  at  the  '  Trumpet,' 
in  Shire  Lane,  when  Sir  Richard,  in  his  zeal,  rather  ex- 
posed himself,  having  the  double  duty  of  the  day  upon 
him,  as  well  to  celebrate  the  immortal  memory  of  King 
William,  it  being  the  4th  November,  as  to  drink  his 


258  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

friend  Addison  up  to  conversation  pitch,  whose  phleg- 
matic constitution  was  hardly  warmed  for  society  by 
that  time.  Steele  was  not  fit  for  it.  Two  remarkable 
circumstances  happened.  John  Sly,  the  hatter  of  face- 
tious memory,  was  in  the  house;  and  John,  pretty 
mellow,  took  it  into  his  head  to  come  into  the  company 
on  his  knees,  with  a  tankard  of  ale  in  his  hand  to  drink 
oiF  to  the  immortal  memory,  and  to  return  in  the  same 
manner.  Steele,  sitting  next  my  father,  whispered  him 
—Do  laugh.  It  is  humanity  to  laugh.  Sir  Richard,  in 
the  evening,  being  too  much  in  the  same  condition,  was 
put  into  a  chair,  and  sent  home.  Nothing  would  serve 
him  but  being  carried  to  the  Bishop  of  Bangor's,  late 
as  it  was.  However,  the  chairmen  carried  him  home, 
and  got  him  upstairs,  when  his  great  complaisance  would 
wait  on  them  downstairs,  which  he  did,  and  then  was 
got  quietly  to  bed."^ 

There  is  another  amusing  story  which,  I  believe,  that 
renowned  collector,  Mr.  Joseph  Miller,  or  his  successors, 
have  incorporated  into  their  w^ork.  Sir  Richard  Steele, 
at  a  time  when  he  was  much  occupied  with  theatrical 
affairs,  built  himself  a  pretty  private  theatre,  and, 
before  it  was  opened  to  his  friends  and  guests,  was 
anxious  to  try  whether  the  hall  was  well  adapted  for 
hearing.  Accordingly  he  placed  himself  in  the  most 
remote  part  of  the  gallery,  and  begged  the  carpenter 
M^ho  had  built  the  house  to  speak  up  from  the  stage. 
The  man  at  first  said  that  he  was  unaccustomed  to  public 
speaking,  and  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  his  honour; 
but  the  good-natured  knight  called  out  to  him  to  say 

'  Of  this  famous  Bishop,  Steele  wrote,— 

"  Virtue  with  so  much  ease  on  Banpor  sits, 
All  faults  he  pardons,  though  he  none  commits." 


STEELE  259 

whatever  was  uppermost;  and,  after  a  moment,  the 
carpenter  began,  in  a  voice  perfectly  audible :  "  Sir 
Richard  Steele!"  he  said,  "for  three  months  past  me 
and  my  men  has  been  a  working  in  this  theatre,  and 
we've  never  seen  the  colour  of  your  honour's  money: 
we  will  be  very  much  obliged  if  you'll  pay  it  directly, 
for  until  you  do  we  won't  drive  in  another  nail."  Sir 
Richard  said  that  his  friend's  elocution  was  perfect,  but 
that  he  didn't  like  his  subject  much. 

The  great  charm  of  Steele's  writing  is  its  natural- 
ness. He  wrote  so  quickly  and  carelessly,  that  he  was 
forced  to  make  the  reader  his  confidant,  and  had  not 
the  time  to  deceive  him.  He  had  a  small  share  of  book- 
learning,  but  a  vast  acquaintance  with  the  world.  He 
had  known  men  and  taverns.  He  had  lived  with  gowns- 
men, with  troopers,  with  gentlemen  ushers  of  the  Court, 
with  men  and  women  of  fashion ;  with  authors  and  wits, 
with  the  inmates  of  the  spunging-houses,  and  with  the 
frequenters  of  all  the  clubs  and  coffee-houses  in  the 
town.  He  was  liked  in  all  company  because  he  liked  it ; 
and  you  like  to  see  his  enjoyment  as  you  like  to  see  the 
glee  of  a  boxful  of  children  at  the  pantomime.  He  was 
not  of  those  lonely  ones  of  the  earth  whose  greatness 
obliged  them  to  be  solitary ;  on  the  contrary,  he  admired, 
I  think,  more  than  any  man  who  ever  wrote;  and  full 
of  hearty  applause  and  sympathy,  wins  upon  you  by 
calling  you  to  share  his  delight  and  good  humour.  His 
laugh  rings  through  the  whole  house.  He  must  have 
been  invaluable  at  a  tragedy,  and  have  cried  as  much 
as  the  most  tender  young  lady  in  the  boxes.  He  has 
a  relish  for  beauty  and  goodness  wherever  he  meets  it. 
He  admired  Shakspeare  affectionately,  and  more  than 
any  man  of  his  time;  and,  according  to  his  generous 


260  ENGLISH  HUMOURISTS 

expansive  nature,  called  upon  all  his  company  to  like 
what  he  liked  himself.  He  did  not  damn  with  faint 
praise:  he  was  in  the  world  and  of  it;  and  his  enjoyment 
of  life  presents  the  strangest  contrast  to  Swift's  savage 
indignation   and   Addison's   lonely   serenity/     Permit 

'  Here  we  have  some  of  his  later  letters: — 

"  To  Lady  Steele. 

"  Dear  Prue,  "  Hampton  Court,  March  16,  1716-17. 

"  If  you  have  written  anj'^thing  to  me  which  I  should  have  received  last 
night,  I  beg  your  pardon  that  I  cannot  answer  till  the  next  post.  .  .  . 
Your  son  at  the  present  writing  is  mighty  well  employed  in  tumbling  on  the 
floor  of  the  room  and  sweeping  the  sand  with  a  feather.  He  grows  a  most 
delightful  child,  and  very  full  of  play  and  sj)irit.  He  is  also  a  very  great 
scholar:  he  can  read  his  primer;  and  I  have  brought  down  my  Virgil.  He 
makes  most  shrewd  remarks  about  the  pictures.  We  are  very  intimate 
friends  and  playfellows.  He  begins  to  be  very  ragged;  and  I  hope  I  shall 
be  pardoned  if  I  equip  him  with  new  clothes  and  frocks,  or  what  Mrs. 
Evans  and  I  shall  think  for  his  service." 

"  To  Lady  Steele. 

[Undated] 
"  You  tell  me  you  want  a  little  flattery  from  me.  I  assure  you  I  know  no 
one  who  deserves  so  much  commendation  as  yourself,  and  to  whom  saying 
the  best  things  would  be  so  little  like  flattery.  The  thing  speaks  for  itself, 
considering  you  as  a  very  handsome  woman  that  loves  retirement — one  who 
does  not  want  wit,  and  yet  is  extremely  sincere;  and  so  I  could  go  through 
all  the  vices  which  attend  the  good  qualities  of  other  people,  of  which  you  are 
exempt.  But,  indeed,  though  you  have  every  perfection,  you  have  an  ex- 
travagant fault,  which  almost  frustrates  the  good  in  you  to  nie;  and  that  is, 
that  you  do  not  love  to  dress,  to  appear,  to  shine  out,  even  at  my  request, 
and  to  make  me  proud  of  you,  or  rather  to  indulge  the  pride  I  have  thac  you 

are  mine • 

"  Your  most  aff'ectionate,  obsequious  husband, 

"  Richard  Steele. 
"  A  quarter  of  Molly's  schooling  is  paid.    The  children  are  perfectly  well." 

"  To  Lady  Steele. 
"  My  dearest  Prue,  "  March  26,  1717. 

"  I   HAVE   received  yours,  wherein  you  give  me  the  sensible   affliction  of 

telling  me  enow  of  the  continual  pain  in  your  head When  I  lay  in 

your  place,  and  on  your  pillow,  I  assure  you  I  fell  into  tears  last  night,  to 
think  that  my  charming  little  insolent  might  be  then  awake  and  in  pain; 
and  took  it  to  be  a  sin  to  go  to  sleep. 

"  For  this  tender  passion  towards  you,  I  must  be  contented  that  your 
Prueship  will  condescend  to  call  yourself  my  well-wisher " 

At  the  time  when  the  above  later  letters  were  written.  Lady  Steele  was  in 
Wales,  looking  tifter  her  estate  there.  Steele,  about  this  time,  was  much  oc- 
cupied with  a  project  for  conveying  fish  alive,  by  wliich,  us  he  constantly 
assures  his  wife,  he  firmly  believed  he  should  make  his  fortune.  It  did  not 
succeed,  however. 

Lady  Steele  died  in  December  of  the  succeeding  year.  Siie  lies  buried  in 
Westminster  Abbey. 


STEELE  261 

me  to  read  to  you  a  passage  from  each  writer,  curiously 
indicative  of  his  pecuHar  humour:  the  subject  is  the 
same,  and  the  mood  the  very  gravest.  We  have  said 
that  upon  all  the  actions  of  man,  the  most  trifling  and 
the  most  solemn,  the  humourist  takes  upon  himself  to 
comment.  All  readers  of  our  old  masters  know  the  ter- 
rible lines  of  Swift,  in  which  he  hints  at  his  philosophy 
and  describes  the  end  of  mankind:—^ 

"  Amazed,  confused,  its  fate  unknown. 
The  world  stood  trembling  at  Jove's  throne ; 
While  each  pale  sinner  hung  his  head, 
Jove,  nodding,  shook  the  heavens  and  said: 

'  Offending  race  of  human  kind. 
By  nature,  reason,  learning,  bhnd; 
You  who  through  frailty  stepped  aside, 
And  you  who  never  err'd  through  pride; 
You  who  in  different  sects  were  shamm'd, 
And  come  to  see  each  other  damn'd ; 
(So  some  folk  told  you,  but  they  knew 
No  more  of  Jove's  designs  than  you;) 
The  world's  mad  business  now  is  o'er, 
And  I  resent  your  freaks  no  more ; 
/  to  such  blockheads  set  my  wit, 
I  damn  such  fools— go,  go,  you're  bit!'  " 

Addison,  speaking  on  the  very  same  theme,  but  with 
how  different  a  voice,  says,  in  his  famous  paper  on 
Westminster  Abbey  (Spectator,  No.  26);— "For  my 
own  part,  though  I  am  always  serious,  I  do  not  know 
what  it  is  to  be  melancholy,  and  can  therefore  take  a 
view  of  nature  in  her  deep  and  solemn  scenes  with  the 
same  pleasure  as  in  her  most  gay  and  delightful  ones. 

1  Lord  Chesterfield  sends  these  verses  to  Voltaire  in  a  characteristic  letter. 


262  ENGLISH  HUMOURISTS 

When  I  look  upon  the  tombs  of  the  great,  every  emo- 
tion of  envy  dies  within  me;  when  I  read  the  epitaphs 
of  the  beautiful,  every  inordinate  desire  goes  out ;  when  I 
meet  with  the  grief  of  parents  on  a  tombstone,  my  heart 
melts  with  compassion ;  when  I  see  the  tomb  of  the  par- 
ents themselves,  I  consider  the  vanity  of  grieving  for 
those  we  must  quickly  follow."  (I  have  owned  that  I 
do  not  think  Addison's  heart  melted  very  much,  or  that 
he  indulged  very  inordinately  in  the  "  vanity  of  griev- 
ing.") "When,"  he  goes  on,  "when  I  see  kings  lying 
by  those  who  deposed  them:  when  I  consider  rival  wits 
placed  side  by  side,  or  the  holy  men  that  divided  the 
world  with  their  contests  and  disputes,— I  reflect  with 
sorrow  and  astonishment  on  the  httle  competitions,  fac- 
tions, and  debates  of  mankind.  And,  when  I  read  the 
several  dates  on  the  tombs  of  some  that  died  yesterday 
and  some  600  years  ago,  I  consider  that  Great  Day 
when  we  shall  all  of  us  be  contemporaries,  and  make  our 
appearance  together." 

Our  third  humourist  comes  to  speak  upon  the  same 
subject.  You  will  have  observed  in  the  previous  extracts 
the  characteristic  humour  of  each  writer— the  subject 
and  the  contrast— the  fact  of  Death,  and  the  play  of 
individual  thought,  by  which  each  comments  on  it,  and 
now  hear  the  third  writer— death,  sorrow,  and  the  grave 
being  for  the  moment  also  his  theme.  "  The  first  sense 
of  sorrow  I  ever  knew,"  Steele  says  in  the  Tatler,  "  was 
upon  the  death  of  my  father,  at  which  time  I  was  not 
quite  five  years  of  age:  but  was  rather  amazed  at  what 
all  the  house  meant,  than  possessed  of  a  real  understand- 
ing why  nobody  would  play  with  us.  I  remember  I 
went  into  the  room  where  his  body  lay,  and  my  mother 
sate  weeping  alone  by  it.    I  had  my  battledoor  in  my 


STEELE  263 

hand,  and  fell  a  beating  the  coffin,  and  calHng  papa; 
for,  I  know  not  how,  I  had  some  idea  that  he  was  locked 
up  there.  My  mother  caught  me  in  her  arms,  and,  trans- 
ported beyond  all  patience  of  the  silent  grief  she  was 
before  in,  she  almost  smothered  me  in  her  embraces,  and 
told  me  in  a  flood  of  tears, '  Papa  could  not  hear  me,  and 
would  play  with  me  no  more:  for  they  were  going  to 
put  him  under  ground,  whence  he  would  never  come  to 
us  again.'  She  was  a  very  beautiful  woman,  of  a  noble 
spirit,  and  there  was  a  dignity  in  her  grief  amidst  all 
the  wildness  of  her  transport,  which  methought  struck 
me  with  an  instinct  of  sorrow  that,  before  I  was  sen- 
sible what  it  was  to  grieve,  seized  my  very  soul,  and  has 
made  pity  the  weakness  of  my  heart  ever  since." 

Can  there  be  three  more  characteristic  moods  of  minds 
and  men?  "  Fools,  do  you  know  anything  of  this  mys- 
tery?" says  Swift,  stamping  on  a  grave,  and  carrying 
his  scorn  for  mankind  actually  beyond  it.  "  Miserable, 
purblind  wretches,  how  dare  you  to  pretend  to  compre- 
hend the  Inscrutable,  and  how  can  your  dim  eyes  pierce 
the  unfathomable  depths  of  yonder  boundless  heaven?" 
Addison,  in  a  much  kinder  language  and  gentler  voice, 
utters  much  the  same  sentiment:  and  speaks  of  the  ri- 
valry of  wits,  and  the  contests  of  holy  men,  with  the  same 
sceptic  placidity.  "Look  what  a  little  vain  dust  we 
are,"  he  says,  smiling  over  the  tombstones;  and  catching, 
as  is  his  wont,  quite  a  divine  effulgence  as  he  looks 
heavenward,  he  speaks,  in  words  of  inspiration  almost, 
of  "the  Great  Day,  when  we  shall  all  of  us  be  con- 
temporaries, and  make  our  appearance  together." 

The  third,  whose  theme  is  Death,  too,  and  who  will 
speak  his  word  of  moral  as  Heaven  teaches  him,  leads 
you  up  to  his  father's  coffin,  and  shows  you  his  beautiful 


264  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

mother  weeping,  and  himself  an  unconscious  Httle  boy 
wondering  at  her  side.  His  own  natural  tears  flow  as 
he  takes  your  hand  and  confidingly  asks  your  sympa- 
thy. *'  See  how  good  and  innocent  and  beautiful 
women  are,"  he  says;  "how  tender  little  children!  Let 
us  love  these  and  one  another,  brother— God  knows  we 
have  need  of  love  and  pardon."  So  it  is  each  man  looks 
with  his  own  eyes,  speaks  with  his  own  voice,  and  prays 
his  own  prayer. 

When  Steele  asks  your  sympathy  for  the  actors  in 
that  charming  scene  of  Love  and  Grief  and  Death,  who 
can  refuse  it?  One  yields  to  it  as  to  the  frank  advance 
of  a  child,  or  to  the  appeal  of  a  woman.  A  man  is  sel- 
dom more  manly  than  when  he  is  what  you  call  un- 
manned— the  source  of  his  emotion  is  championship, 
pity,  and  courage;  the  instinctive  desire  to  cherish  those 
who  are  innocent  and  unhappy,  and  defend  those  who 
are  tender  and  weak.  If  Steele  is  not  our  friend  he  is 
nothing.  He  is  by  no  means  the  most  brilliant  of  wits 
nor  the  deepest  of  thinkers :  but  he  is  our  friend :  we  love 
him,  as  children  love  their  love  with  an  A,  because 
he  is  amiable.  Who  likes  a  man  best  because  he  is  the 
cleverest  or  the  wisest  of  mankind ;  or  a  woman  because 
she  is  the  most  virtuous,  or  talks  French,  or  plays  the 
piano  better  than  the  rest  of  her  sex?  I  own  to  liking 
Dick  Steele  the  man,  and  Dick  Steele  the  author,  much 
better  than  much  better  men  and  much  better  authors. 

The  misfortune  regarding  Steele  is,  that  most  part  of 
the  company  here  present  must  take  his  amiability  upon 
hearsay,  and  certainly  can't  make  his  intimate  acquain- 
tance. Not  that  Steele  was  worse  than  his  time;  on 
the  contrary,  a  far  better,  truer,  and  higher-hearted 
man  than  most  who  lived  in  it.    But  things  were  done 


STEELE  265 

in  that  society,  and  names  were  named,  which  would 
make  you  shudder  now.  What  would  be  the  sensation 
of  a  polite  youth  of  the  present  day,  if  at  a  ball  he  saw 
the  young  object  of  his  affections  taking  a  box  out  of 
her  pocket  and  a  pinch  of  snuff:  or  if  at  dinner,  by  the 
charmer's  side,  she  deliberately  put  her  knife  into  her 
mouth?  If  she  cut  her  mother's  throat  with  it,  mamma 
would  scarcely  be  more  shocked.  I  allude  to  these  pecu- 
liarities of  by -gone  times  as  an  excuse  for  my  favourite, 
Steele,  who  was  not  worse,  and  often  much  more  deli- 
cate than  his  neighbours. 

There  exists  a  curious  document  descriptive  of  the 
manners  of  the  last  age,  which  describes  most  minutely 
the  amusements  and  occupations  of  persons  of  fashion 
in  London  at  the  time  of  which  we  are  speaking;  the 
time  of  Swift,  and  Addison,  and  Steele. 

When  Lord  Sparkish,  Tom  Neverout,  and  Colonel 
Alwit,  the  immortal  personages  of  Swift's  polite  con- 
versation, came  to  breakfast  with  my  Lady  Smart,  at 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  my  Lord  Smart  was  ab- 
sent at  the  levee.  His  lordship  was  at  home  to  dinner 
at  three  o'clock  to  receive  his  guests;  and  we  may  sit 
down  to  this  meal,  like  the  Barmecide's,  and  see  the  fops 
of  the  last  century  before  us.  Seven  of  them  sat  down 
at  dinner,  and  were  joined  by  a  country  baronet  who 
told  them  they  kept  court  hours.  These  persons  of 
fashion  began  their  dinner  with  a  sirloin  of  beef,  fish, 
a  shoulder  of  veal,  and  a  tongue.  My  Lady  Smart 
carved  the  sirloin,  my  Lady  Answerall  helped  the  fish, 
and  the  gallant  Colonel  cut  the  shoulder  of  veal.  All 
made  a  considerable  inroad  on  the  sirloin  and  the  shoul- 
der of  veal  with  the  exception  of  Sir  John,  who  had  no 
appetite,  having  already  partaken  of  a  beefsteak  and 


266  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

two  mugs  of  ale,  besides  a  tankard  of  March  beer  as  soon 
as  he  got  out  of  bed.  They  drank  claret,  which  the 
master  of  the  house  said  should  always  be  drunk  after 
fish;  and  my  Lord  Smart  particularly  recommended 
some  excellent  cider  to  my  Lord  Sparkish,  which  occa- 
sioned some  brilliant  remarks  from  that  nobleman. 
When  the  host  called  for  wine,  he  nodded  to  one  or  other 
of  his  guests,  and  said,  "  Tom  Neverout,  my  service  to 
you." 

After  the  first  course  came  almond-pudding,  fritters, 
which  the  Colonel  took  with  his  hands  out  of  the  dish, 
in  order  to  help  the  brilliant  Miss  Notable;  chickens, 
black  puddings,  and  soup ;  and  Lady  Smart,  the  elegant 
mistress  of  the  mansion,  finding  a  skewer  in  a  dish, 
placed  it  in  her  plate  with  directions  that  it  should  be 
carried  down  to  the  cook  and  dressed  for  the  cook's  own 
dinner.  Wine  and  small  beer  were  drunk  during  this 
second  course;  and  when  the  Colonel  called  for  beer, 
he  called  the  butler  Friend,  and  asked  w^hether  the  beer 
was  good.  Various  jocular  remarks  jDassed  from  the 
gentlefolks  to  the  servants;  at  breakfast  several  per- 
sons had  a  word  and  a  joke  for  Mrs.  Betty,  my  lady's 
maid,  who  warmed  the  cream  and  had  charge  of  the 
canister  (the  tea  cost  thirty  shillings  a  pound  in  those 
days) .  When  my  Lady  Sparkish  sent  her  footman  out  to 
my  Lady  Match  to  come  at  six  o'clock  and  play  at  quad- 
rille, her  ladyship  warned  the  man  to  follow  his  nose, 
and  if  he  fell  by  the  way  not  to  stay  to  get  up  again. 
And  when  the  gentlemen  asked  the  hall-porter  if  his 
lady  was  at  home,  that  functionary  replied,  with  manly 
waggishness,  "  She  was  at  home  just  now,  but  she's  not 
gone  out  yet." 

After  the  puddings,  sweet  and  black,  the  fritters  and 


STEELE  267 

soup,  came  the  third  course,  of  which  the  chief  dish  was 
a  hot  venison  pasty,  which  was  put  before  Lord  Smart, 
and  carved  by  that  nobleman.  Besides  the  pasty,  there 
was  a  hare,  a  rabbit,  some  pigeons,  partridges,  a  goose, 
and  a  ham.  Beer  and  wine  were  freely  imbibed  during 
this  course,  the  gentlemen  always  pledging  somebody 
with  every  glass  which  they  drank ;  and  by  this  time  the 
conversation  between  Tom  Neverout  and  Miss  Notable 
had  grown  so  brisk  and  lively,  that  the  Derbyshire  bar- 
onet began  to  think  the  young  gentlewoman  was  Tom's 
sweetheart;  on  which  Miss  remarked,  that  she  loved 
Tom  "  like  pie."  After  the  goose,  some  of  the  gentle- 
men took  a  dram  of  brandy,  "  which  was  very  good  for 
the  wholesomes,"  Sir  John  said;  and  now  having  had  a 
tolerably  substantial  dinner,  honest  Lord  Smart  bade 
the  butler  bring  up  the  great  tankard  full  of  October 
to  Sir  John.  The  great  tankard  was  passed  from  hand 
to  hand  and  mouth  to  mouth,  but  when  pressed  by  the 
noble  host  upon  the  gallant  Tom  Neverout,  he  said, 
"  No,  faith,  my  lord;  I  like  your  wine,  and  won't  put  a 
churl  upon  a  gentleman.  Your  honour's  claret  is  good 
enough  for  me."  And  so,  the  dinner  over,  the  host  said, 
"  Hang  saving,  bring  us  up  a  ha'porth  of  cheese." 

The  cloth  was  now  taken  away,  and  a  bottle  of  bur- 
gundy was  set  down,  of  which  the  ladies  were  invited  to 
partake  before  they  went  to  their  tea.  When  they  with- 
drew, the  gentlemen  promised  to  join  them  in  an  hour: 
fresh  bottles  were  brought;  the  "dead  men,"  meaning 
the  empty  bottles,  removed;  and  "D'you  hear,  John? 
bring  clean  glasses,"  mj^  Lord  Smart  said.  On  which 
the  gallant  Colonel  Alwit  said,  "I'll  keep  my  glass; 
for  wine  is  the  best  liquor  to  wash  glasses  in." 

After  an  hour  the  gentlemen  joined  the  ladies,  and 


268  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

then  they  all  sat  and  played  quadrille  until  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  when  the  chairs  and  the  flambeaux  came, 
and  this  noble  company  went  to  bed. 

Such  w^ere  manners  six  or  seven  score  years  ago.  I 
draw  no  inference  from  this  queer  picture— let  all 
moralists  here  present  deduce  their  own.  Fancy  the 
moral  condition  of  that  society  in  which  a  lady  of  fashion 
joked  with  a  footman,  and  carved  a  sirloin,  and  pro- 
vided besides  a  great  shoulder  of  veal,  a  goose,  hare,  rab- 
bit, chickens,  partridges,  black  puddings,  and  a  ham  for 
a  dinner  for  eight  Christians.  What— what  could  have 
been  the  condition  of  that  polite  world  in  which  people 
openly  ate  goose  after  almond-pudding,  and  took  their 
soup  in  the  middle  of  dinner?  Fancy  a  Colonel  in  the 
Guards  putting  his  hand  into  a  dish  of  heig7iets  d'ahri- 
cotj  and  helping  his  neighbour,  a  young  lady  du  monde! 
Fancy  a  noble  lord  calling  out  to  the  servants,  before 
the  ladies  at  his  table,  "Hang  expense,  bring  us  a 
ha'porth  of  cheese!"  Such  were  the  ladies  of  Saint 
James's— such  were  the  frequenters  of  "  White's  Choc- 
olate-House," when  Swift  used  to  visit  it,  and  Steele 
described  it  as  the  centre  of  pleasure,  gallantry,  and 
entertainment,  a  hundred  and  forty  years  ago! 

Dennis,  who  ran  amuck  at  the  literary  society  of  his 
day,  falls  foul  of  poor  Steele,  and  thus  depicts  him:— 

"  Sir  John  Edgar,  of  the  county  of in  Ireland,  is 

of  a  middle  stature,  broad  shoulders,  thick  legs,  a  shape 
like  the  picture  of  somebody  over  a  farmer's  chimney 
—a  short  chin,  a  short  nose,  a  short  forehead,  a  broad 
flat  face,  and  dusky  countenance.  Yet  with  such  a 
face  and  such  a  shape,  he  discovered  at  sixty  that  he 
took  himself  for  a  beauty,  and  appeared  to  be  more 
mortified  at  being  told  that  he  was  ugly,  than  he  was 


STEELE  269 

by  any  reflection  made  upon  his  honour  or  understand- 
ing. 

"He  is  a  gentleman  born,  witness  himself,  of  very 
honourable  family;  certainly  of  a  very  ancient  one,  for 
his  ancestors  flourished  in  Tipperary  long  before  the 
English  ever  set  foot  in  Ireland.  He  has  testimony 
of  this  more  authentic  than  the  Herald's  Office,  or  any 
humany  testimony.  For  God  has  marked  him  more 
abundantly  than  he  did  Cain,  and  stamped  his  native 
country  on  his  face,  his  understanding,  his  writings,  his 
actions,  his  passions,  and,  above  all,  his  vanity.  The 
Hibernian  brogue  is  still  upon  all  these,  though  long 
habit  and  length  of  days  have  worn  it  off  his  tongue."  ^ 

»  Steele  replied  to  Dennis  in  an  "  Answer  to  a  Whimsical  Pamphlet,  called 
the  Character  of  Sir  John  Edgar."  What  Steele  had  to  say  against  the 
cross-grained  old  Critic  discovers  a  great  deal  of  humour:— 

"  Thou  never  didst  let  the  sun  into  thy  garret,  for  fear  he  should  bring  a 
bailiflF  along  with  him .    ^  .„  .     . 

"  Your  years  are  about  sixty-five,  an  ugly,  vinegar  face,  that  if  you  had 
any  command  you  would  be  obeyed  out  of  fear,  from  your  ill-nature  pic- 
tured there;  not  from  any  other  motive.  Your  height  is  about  some  five  feet 
five  inches.  You  see  I  can  give  your  exact  measure  as  well  as  if  I  had  taken 
your  dimension  with  a  good  cudgel,  which  I  promise  you  to  do  as  soon  as 
ever  I  have  the  good  fortune  to  meet  you 

"  Your  doughty  paunch  stands  before  you  like  a  firkin  of  butter,  and  your 
duck  legs  seem  to  be  cast  for  carrying  burdens. 

"Thy  works  are  libels  upon  others,  and  satires  upon  thyself;  and  while 
they  bark  at  men  of  sense,  call  him  knave  and  fool  that  wrote  them.  Thou 
hast  a  great  antipathy  to  thy  own  species;  and  hatest  the  sight  of  a  fool  but 
in  thy  glass." 

Steele  had  been  kind  to  Dennis,  and  once  got  arrested  on  account  of  a 
pecuniary  service  which  he  did  him.  When  John  heard  of  the  fact— 
"  S'death!  "  cries  John;  "  why  did  not  he  keep  out  of  the  way  as  I  did?  " 

The  "  Answer "  concludes  by  mentioning  that  Cibber  had  offered  Ten 
Pounds  for  the  discovery  of  the  authorship  of  Dennis's  pamphlet;  on  which, 
says  Steele,—"  I  am  only  sorry  he  has  offered  so  much,  because  the  twentieth 
part  would  have  over-valued  "his  whole  carcase.  But  I  know  the  fellow  that 
he  keeps  to  give  answers  to  his  creditors  will  betray  him;  for  he  gave  me 
his  word  to  bring  officers  on  the  top  of  the  house  that  should  make  a  hole 
through  the  ceiling  of  his  garret,  and  so  bring  him  to  the  punishment  he 
deserves.  Some  people  think  this  expedient  out  of  the  way,  and  that  he 
would  make  his  escape  upon  hearing  the  least  noise.  I  say  so  too;  but  it  takes 
him  up  half  an  hour  every  night  to  fortify  himself  with  his  old  hair  trunk, 
two  or  three  joint-stools,  and  some  other  lumber,  which  he  ties  together  with 
cords  so  fast  that  it  takes  him  up  the  same  time  in  the  morning  to  release 
himself." 


270  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

Although  this  portrait  is  the  work  of  a  man  who  was 
neither  the  friend  of  Steele  nor  of  any  other  man  ahve, 
yet  there  is  a  dreadful  resemblance  to  the  original  in  the 
savage  and  exaggerated  traits  of  the  caricature,  and 
everybody  's^ho  knows  him  must  recognize  Dick  Steele. 
Dick  set  about  almost  all  the  undertakings  of  his  life 
with  inadequate  means,  and,  as  he  took  and  furnished 
a  house  with  the  most  generous  intentions  towards  his 
friends,  the  most  tender  gallantry  towards  his  wife, 
and  with  this  only  drawback,  that  he  had  not  where- 
withal to  pay  the  rent  when  quarter-day  came,— so,  in 
his  hfe  he  proposed  to  himself  the  most  magnificent 
schemes  of  virtue,  forbearance,  public  and  private  good, 
and  the  advancement  of  his  own  and  the  national  re- 
hgion;  but  when  he  had  to  pay  for  these  articles— so 
difficult  to  purchase  and  so  costly  to  maintain— poor 
Dick's  money  was  not  forthcoming:  and  when  Virtue 
called  with  her  little  bill,  Dick  made  a  shuffling  excuse 
that  he  could  not  see  her  that  morning,  having  a  head- 
ache from  being  tipsy  overnight;  or  when  stern  Duty 
rapped  at  the  door  with  his  account,  Dick  was  absent 
and  not  ready  to  pay.    He  was  shirking  at  the  tavern; 
or  had  some  particular  business  (of  somebody's  else)  at 
the  ordinary :  or  he  was  in  hiding,  or  worse  than  in  hiding, 
in  the  lock-up  house.     What  a  situation  for  a  man!— 
for  a  philanthropist— for  a  lover  of  right  and  truth— 
for    a    magnificent    designer    and    schemer!     Not    to 
dare  to  look  in  the  face  the  Religion  which  he  adored 
and  which  he  had  offended :  to  have  to  shirk  down  back 
lanes  and  alleys,  so  as  to  avoid  the  friend  whom  he  loved 
and  who  had  trusted  him;  to  have  the  house  which  he 
had  intended  for  his  wife,  whom  he  loved  passionately, 
and  for  her  ladyship's  company  which  he  wished  to 


STEELE  271 

entertain  splendidly,  in  the  possession  of  a  bailiff's  man ; 
with  a  crowd  of  little  creditors, — grocers,  butchers,  and 
small-coal  men — lingering  round  the  door  with  their 
bills  and  jeering  at  him.  Alas!  for  poor  Dick  Steele! 
For  nobody  else,  of  course.  There  is  no  man  or  woman 
in  our  time  who  makes  fine  projects  and  gives  them  up 
from  idleness  or  want  of  means.  When  Duty  calls  upon 
us,  we  no  doubt  are  always  at  home  and  ready  to  pay 
that  grim  tax-gatherer.  When  we  are  stricken  with 
remorse  and  promise  reform,  we  keep  our  promise,  and 
are  never  angry,  or  idle,  or  extravagant  any  more. 
There  are  no  chambers  in  our  hearts,  destined  for  family 
friends  and  affections,  and  now  occupied  by  some  Sin's 
emissary  and  baihff  in  possession.  There  are  no  little 
sins,  shabby  peccadilloes,  importunate  remembrances,  or 
disappointed  holders  of  our  promises  to  reform,  hover- 
ing at  our  steps,  or  knocking  at  our  door!  Of  course 
not.  We  are  living  in  the  nineteenth  century ;  and  poor 
Dick  Steele  stumbled  and  got  up  again,  and  got  into 
jail  and  out  again,  and  sinned  and  repented,  and  loved 
and  suffered,  and  lived  and  died,  scores  of  years  ago. 
Peace  be  with  him!  Let  us  think  gently  of  one  who 
was  so  gentle:  let  us  speak  kindly  of  one  whose  own 
breast  exuberated  with  human  kindness. 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE 

MATTHEW  PRIOR  was  one  of  those  famous 
and  lucky  wits  of  the  auspicious  reign  of  Queen 
Anne,  whose  name  it  behoves  us  not  to  pass  over.  Mat 
was  a  world-philosopher  of  no  small  genius,  good  nature, 
and  acumen/  He  loved,  he  drank,  he  sang.  He  de- 
scribes himself,  in  one  of  his  lyrics,  "  in  a  little  Dutch 
chaise  on  a  Saturday  night;  on  his  left  hand  his  Horace, 

^Gay  calls  him— "  Dear  Prior  ....  beloved  by  every  muse."— Mr,  Pope's 
Welcome  from  Greece. 

Swift  and  Prior  were  very  intimate,  and  he  is  frequently  mentioned  in  the 
"  Journal  to  Stella."  "  Mr.  Prior,"  says  Swift,  "  walks  to  make  himself  fat, 
and  I  to  keep  myself  down We  often  walk  round  the  park  together." 

In  Swift's  works  there  is  a  curious  tract  called  "  Remarks  on  the  Characters 
of  the  Court  of  Queen  Anne"  [Scott's  edition,  vol.  xii.].  The  "Remarks" 
are  not  by  the  Dean ;  but  at  the  end  of  each  is  an  addition  in  italics  from  his 
hand,  and  these  are  always  characteristic.  Thus,  to  the  Duke  of  Marlborough, 
he  adds,  "  Detestably  covetous,"  &c.    Prior  is  thus  noticed — 

"  Matthew  Prior,  Esq.,  Commissioner  of  Trade. 

"On  the  Queen's  accession  to  the  throne,  he  was  continued  in  his  office;  is 
very  well  at  court  with  the  ministry,  and  is  an  entire  creature  of  my  Lord 
Jersey's,  whom  he  supports  by  his  advice;  is  one  of  the  best  poets  in  England, 
but  very  facetious  in  conversation.  A  thin,  hollow-looked  man,  turned  of 
forty  years  old.    This  is  near  the  truth." 

"  Yet  counting  as  far  as  to  fifty  his  years, 

His  virtues  and  vices  were  as  other  men's  are. 
High  hopes  he  conceived  and  he  smothered  great  fears. 
In  a  life  party-coloured— half  pleasure,  half  care. 

"  Not  to  business  a  drudge,  nor  to  faction  a  slave. 
He  strove  to  make  interest  and  freedom  agree; 
In  public  employments  industrious  and  grave, 
And  alone  with  his  friends.  Lord,  how  merry  was  he ! 

"  Now  in  equipage  stately,  now  humble  on  foot, 

Both  fortunes  he  tried,  but  to  neither  would  trust; 
And  whirled  in  the  round  as  the  wheel  turned  about. 

He  found  riches  had  wings,  and  knew  man  was  but  dust." 

Puiou's  Poems.     [For  my  own  monument.] 

272 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE  273 

and  a  friend  on  his  right,"  going  out  of  town  from  the 
Hague  to  pass  that  evening,  and  the  ensuing  Sunday, 
boozing  at  a  Spielhaus  with  his  companions,  perhaps 
bobbing  for  perch  in  a  Dutch  canal,  and  noting  down, 
in  a  strain  and  with  a  grace  not  unworthy  of  his  Epi- 
curean master,  the  charms  of  his  idleness,  his  retreat, 
and  his  Batavian  Chloe.  A  vintner's  son  in  Whitehall, 
and  a  distinguished  pupil  of  Busby  of  the  Rod,  Prior 
attracted  some  notice  by  writing  verses  at  St.  John's 
College,  Cambridge,  and,  coming  up  to  town,  aided 
Montague  ^  in  an  attack  on  the  noble  old  English  lion 
John  Dryden;  in  ridicule  of  whose  work,  "The  Hind 
and  the  Panther,"  he  brought  out  that  remarkable  and 
famous  burlesque,  "  The  Town  and  Country  Mouse." 
Aren't  you  all  acquainted  with  it?  Have  you  not  all 
got  it  by  heart?  What!  have  you  never  heard  of  it? 
See  what  fame  is  made  of!  The  wonderful  part  of  the 
satire  was,  that,  as  a  natural  consequence  of  "  The  Town 
and  Country  Mouse,"  Matthew  Prior  was  made  Secre- 
tary of  Embassy  at  the  Hague!  I  believe  it  is  dancing, 
rather  than  singing,  which  distinguishes  the  young  Eng- 
lish diplomatists  of  the  present  day ;  and  have  seen  them 
in  various  parts  perform  that  part  of  their  duty  very 
finely.  In  Prior's  time  it  appears  a  different  accom- 
plishment led  to  preferment.  Could  you  write  a  copy 
of  Alcaics?  that  was  the  question.  Could  you  turn  out 
a  neat  epigram  or  two?  Could  you  compose  "The 
Town  and  Country  Mouse?"  It  is  manifest  that,  by 
the  possession  of  this  faculty,  the  most  difficult  treaties, 

^ "  They  joined  to  produce  a  parody,  entitled  the  '  Town  and  Country 
Mouse,'  part  of  which  Mr.  Bayes  is  supposed  to  gratify  his  old  friends,  Smart 
and  Johnson,  by  repeating  to  them.  The  piece  is  therefore  founded  upon 
the  twice-told  jest  of  the  '  Rehearsal.'  .  .  .  There  is  nothing  new  or 
original  in  the  idea.  ...  In  this  piece,  Prior,  though  the  younger  man, 
seems  to  have  had  by  far  the  largest  share."— Scott's  Dryden,  vol.  i.  p.  330. 


274  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

the  laws  of  foreign  nations,  and  the  interests  of  our 
own,  are  easily  understood.  Prior  rose  in  the  diplomatic 
service,  and  said  good  things  that  proved  his  sense  and 
his  spirit.  When  the  apartments  at  Versailles  were 
shown  to  him,  with  the  victories  of  Louis  XIV.  painted 
on  the  walls,  and  Prior  was  asked  whether  the  palace 
of  the  King  of  England  had  any  such  decorations, 
"  The  monuments  of  my  master's  actions,"  Mat  said, 
of  William  whom  he  cordially  revered,  "  are  to  be  seen 
everywhere  except  in  his  own  house."  Bravo,  Mat! 
Prior  rose  to  be  full  ambassador  at  Paris,^  where  he 
somehow  was  cheated  out  of  his  ambassadorial  plate ;  and 
in  an  heroic  poem,  addressed  by  him  to  her  late  lamented 
Majesty,  Queen  Anne,  Mat  makes  some  magnificent 
allusions  to  these  dishes  and  spoons,  of  which  Fate  had 
deprived  him.  All  that  he  wants,  he  says,  is  her  Maj- 
esty's picture;  without  that  he  can't  be  happy. 

"  Thee,  gracious  Anne,  thee  present  I  adore : 
Thee,  Queen  of  Peace,  if  Time  and  Fate  have  power 
Higher  to  raise  the  glories  of  thy  reign, 
In  words  sublimer  and  a  nobler  strain 
May  future  bards  the  mighty  theme  rehearse. 
Here,  Stator  Jove,  and  Phoebus,  king  of  verse, 
The  votive  tablet  I  suspend." 

^  "  He  was  to  have  been  in  the  same  commission  with  the  Duke  of  Shrews- 
bury, but  that  that  nobleman,"  says  Johnson,  "  refused  to  be  associated  with 
one' so  meanly  born.  Prior  therefore  continued  to  act  without  a  title  till  the 
Duke's  return  next  year  to  England,  and  then  he  assumed  the  style  and 
dignity  of  ambassador." 

He  had  been  thinkin-  of  slights  of  this  sort  when  he  wrote  his  Epitaph:— 

"  Nobles  and  heralds,  by  your  leave, 

Here  lies  what  once  was  Matthew  Prior, 
The  son  of  Adam  and  of  Eve; 

Can  Bourbon  or  Nassau  claim  higher?" 

But,  in  this  case,  the  old  prejudice  got  the  better  of  the  old  joke. 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND   POPE  275 

With  that  word  the  poem  stops  abruptly.  The  votive 
tablet  is  suspended  for  ever,  like  Mahomet's  coffin. 
News  came  that  the  Queen  was  dead.  Stator  Jove,  and 
Phoebus,  king  of  verse,  were  left  there,  hovering  to  this 
day,  over  the  votive  tablet.  The  picture  was  never  got, 
any  more  than  the  spoons  and  dishes:  the  inspiration 
ceased,  the  verses  were  not  wanted — the  ambassador 
wasn't  wanted.  Poor  Mat  was  recalled  from  his  em- 
bassy, suffered  disgrace  along  with  his  patrons,  lived 
under  a  sort  of  cloud  ever  after,  and  disappeared  in 
Essex.  When  deprived  of  all  his  pensions  and  emolu- 
ments, the  hearty  and  generous  Oxford  pensioned  him. 
They  played  for  gallant  stakes— the  bold  men  of  those 
days — and  lived  and  gave  splendidly. 

Johnson  quotes  from  S pence  a  legend,  that  Prior, 
after  spending  an  evening  with  Harley,  St.  John,  Pope, 
and  Swift,  would  go  off  and  smoke  a  pipe  with  a  couple 
of  friends  of  his,  a  soldier  and  his  wife,  in  Long  Acre. 
Those  who  have  not  read  his  late  Excellency's  poems 
should  be  warned  that  they  smack  not  a  little  of  the  con- 
versation of  his  Long  Acre  friends.  Johnson  speaks 
slightingly  of  his  lyrics;  but  with  due  deference  to  the 
great  Samuel,  Prior's  seem  to  me  amongst  the  easiest, 
the  richest,  the  most  charmingly  humourous  of  English 
lyrical  poems. ^     Horace  is  always  in  his  mind;  and  his 

*  His  epigrams  have  the  genuine  sparkle: 

"  The  Remedy  worse  than  the  Disease. 

"  I  sent  for  RadclifF;  was  so  ill, 

That  other  doctors  gave  me  over: 
He  felt  my  pulse,  prescribed  his  pill, 
And  I  was  likely  to  recover. 

"  But  when  the  wit  began  to  wheeze, 
And  wine  had  warmed  the  politician. 
Cured  yesterday  of  my  disease, 
I  died  last  night  of  my  physician." 


276  ENGLISH  HUMOURISTS 

song,  and  his  philosophy,  his  good  sense,  his  happy  easy 
turns  and  melody,  his  loves  and  his  Epicureanism  bear  a 
great  resemblance  to  that  most  delightful  and  accom- 
plished master.  In  reading  his  works,  one  is  struck  with 
their  modern  air,  as  well  as  by  their  happy  similarity  to 
the  songs  of  the  charming  owner  of  the  Sabine  farm. 
In  his  verses  addressed  to  Halifax,  he  says,  writing  of 
that  endless  theme  to  poets,  the  vanity  of  human 
wishes— 

"  So  whilst  in  fevered  dreams  we  sink, 
And  waking,  taste  what  we  desire. 
The  real  draught  but  feeds  the  fire, 
The  dream  is  better  than  the  drink. 

"  Our  hopes  like  towering  falcons  aim 
At  objects  in  an  airy  height: 
To  stand  aloof  and  view  the  flight, 
Is  all  the  pleasure  of  the  game." 

Would  not  you  fancy  that  a  poet  of  our  own  days  was 
singing?  and  in  the  verses  of  Chloe  weeping  and  re- 
proaching him  for  his  inconstancy,  where  he  says— 

"  The  God  of  us  versemen,  you  know,  child,  the  Sun, 
How,  after  his  journeys,  he  sets  up  his  rest. 
If  at  morning  o'er  earth  'tis  his  fancy  to  run, 
At  night  he  declines  on  his  Thetis's  breast. 

"  Yes,  every  poet  is  a  fool ; 

By  demonstration  Ned  can  show  it; 
Happy  could  Ned's  inverted  rule 
Prove  every  fool  to  be  a  poet." 

"  On  his  death-bed  poor  Lubin  lies. 
His  spouse  is  in  despair; 
With  frequent  sobs  and  mutual  cries, 
They  both  express  their  care. 

"'A  different  cause,'  says  Parson  Sly, 
'The  same  effect  may  give; 
Poor  Lubin  fears  that  "he  shall  die, 
His  wife  that  he  may  live.'  " 


PRIOR,   GAY,  AND   POPE  277 

*'  So,  when  I  am  wearied  with  wandering  all  day. 
To  thee,  my  delight,  in  the  evening  I  come: 
No  matter  what  beauties  I  saw  in  my  way ; 

They  were  but  my  visits,  but  thou  art  my  home! 

"  Then  finish,  dear  Chloe,  this  pastoral  war. 
And  let  us  like  Horace  and  Lydia  agree: 
For  thou  art  a  girl  as  much  brighter  than  her, 
As  he  was  a  poet  sublimer  than  me." 

If  Prior  read  Horace,  did  not  Thomas  Moore  study 
Prior?  Love  and  pleasure  find  singers  in  all  days. 
Roses  are  always  blowing  and  fading — to-day  as  in  that 
pretty  time  when  Prior  sang  of  them,  and  of  Chloe  la- 
menting their  decay— 

"  She  sighed,  she  smiled,  and  to  the  flowers 

Pointing,  the  lovely  moralist  said : 

See,  friend,  in  some  few  fleeting  hours. 

See  yonder  what  a  change  is  made ! 

"  Ah  me !  the  blooming  pride  of  May 
And  that  of  Beauty  are  but  one : 
At  morn  both  flourish,  bright  and  gay, 
Both  fade  at  evening,  pale  and  gone. 

"  At  dawn  poor  Stella  danced  and  sung. 

The  amorous  youth  around  her  bowed : 
At  night  her  fatal  knell  was  rung; 
I  saw,  and  kissed  her  in  her  shroud. 

"  Such  as  she  is  who  died  to-day. 

Such  I,  alas,  may  be  to-morrow: 
Go,  Damon,  bid  thy  Muse  display 
The  justice  of  thy  Chloe's  sorrow." 


278  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

Damon's  knell  was  rung  in  1721.  May  his  turf  lie 
lightly  on  him  !  Deus  sit  ijrojniius  huic  potatori,  as 
^Valter  de  Mapes  sang.^     Perhaps   Samuel  Jolmson, 

^  "  Prior  to  Sir  Thomas  Hanmer. 
"Dear  Sir,-  "^u^r.  4,  1709. 

"  Friendship  may  live,  I  grant  you,  without  being  fed  and  cherished  by 
correspondence;  but  with  that  additional  benefit  I  am  of  opinion  it  will  look 
more  cheerful  and  thrive  better:  for  in  this  case,  as  in  love,  though  a  man  is 
sure  of  his  own  constancy,  yet  his  happiness  depends  a  good  deal  upon  the 
sentiments  of  another,  and  while  you  and  Chloe  are  alive,  'tis  not  enough 
that  I  love  you  both,  except  I  am  sure  you  both  love  me  again ;  and  as  one  of 
her  scrawls  fortifies  my  mind  more  against  affliction  than  all  Epictetus,  with 
Simplicius's  comments  into  the  bargain,  so  your  single  letter  gave  me  more 

real  pleasure  than  all  the  works  of  Plato I  must  return  my  answer 

to  your  very  kind  question  concerning  my  health.  The  Bath  waters  have 
done  a  good  deal  towards  the  recovery  of  it,  and  the  great  specific.  Cape 
cabaUum,  will,  I  think,  confirm  it.  Upon  this  head  I  must  tell  you  that  my 
mare  Betty  grows  blind,  and  may  one  day,  by  breaking  my  neck,  perfect  my 
cure:  if  at  Rixham  fair  any  pretty  nagg'  that  is  between  thirteen  and  four- 
teen hands  presented  himself,  and  you  would  be  pleased  to  purchase  him 
for  me,  one  of  your  servants  might  ride  him  to  Euston,  and  I  might  receive 
him  there.  This,  sir,  is  just  as  such  a  thing  happens.  If  you  hear,  too,  of  a 
Welch  widow,  with  a  good  jointure,  that  has  her  goings  and  is  not  very  skit- 
tish, pray,  be  pleased  to  cast  your  eye  on  her  for  me  too.  You  see,  sir,  the 
great  trust  I  repose  in  your  skill  and  honour,  when  I  dare  put  two  such  com- 
missions in  your  hand "—The  Haiimer  Correspondence,  p.  130. 

"  From  Mr.  Prior. 

"  My  dear  Lord  and  Friend,—  "  Paris,  1st— 12th  May,  1714. 

"  Matthew  never  had  so  great  occasion  to  write  a  word  to  Henry  as  now: 
it  is  noised  here  that  1  am  soon  to  return.  The  question  that  I  wish  I  could 
answer  to  the  many  that  ask,  and  to  our  friend  Colbert  de  Torcy  (to  whom 
I  made  your  compliments  in  the  manner  you  commanded)  is,  what  is  done 
for  me;  and  to  what  I  am  recalled?  It  may  look  like  a  bagatelle,  what  is  to 
become  of  a  philosopher  like  me?  but  it  is  not  such:  what  is  to  become  of  a 
person  who  had  the  honour  to  be  chosen,  and  sent  hither  as  intrusted,  in  the 
midst  of  a  war,  with  what  the  Queen  designed  should  make  the  peace;  re- 
turning with  the  Lord  Bolingbroke,  one  of  the  greatest  men  in  England,  and 
one  of  the  finest  heads  in  Europe  (as  they  say  here,  if  true  or  not,  n'im- 
j)orte);  having  been  left  by  him  in  the  greatest  character  (that  of  Her 
Majesty's  Plenipotentiary),  exercising  that  power  conjointly  with  the  Duke 
of  Shrewsbury,  and  solely  after  his  departure;  having  here  received  more 
distinguished  honour  than  any  Minister,  except  an  Ambassador,  ever  did, 
and  some  which  were  never  given  to  any  but  who  had  that  character;  having 
had  all  the  success  that  could  be  expected;  having  (God  be  thanked!)  spared 
no  pains,  at  a  time  when  at  home  the  peace  is  voted  safe  and  honourable  — at 
a  time  when  the  Earl  of  Oxford  is  Lord  Treasurer  and  Lord  Bolingbroke 
First  Secretary  of  State?  This  unfortunate  person,  I  say,  neglected,  forgot, 
unnamed  to  anything  that  may  speak  the  Queen  satisfied  with  his  services, 
or  his  friends  concerned  as  to  his  fortune. 

"  Mr.  de  Torcy  put  me  quite  out  of  countenance,  the  other  day,  by  a  pity 
that  wounded  me  dcej)er  than  ever  did  the  cruelty  of  the  late  Lord  Godol- 
phin.  He  said  he  would  write  to  Robin  and  Harry  about  me.  God  forbid, 
my  lord,  that  1  should  need  any  foreign  intercession,  or  owe  the  least  to 


PRIOR,   GAY,  AND  POPE  279 

who  spoke  slightingly  of  Prior's  verses,  enjoyed  them 
more  than  he  was  willing  to  own.  The  old  moralist  had 
studied  them  as  well  as  ]\Ir.  Thomas  ^loore,  and  de- 
fended them,  and  showed  that  he  remembered  them  very 
well  too,  on  an  occasion  when  their  morality  was  called 
in  question  by  that  noted  puritan,  James  Boswell,  Esq., 
of  Auchinleck.^ 

any  Frenchman  living,  besides  the  decency  of  behaviour  and  the  returns  of 
common  civility:  some  say  I  am  to  go  to  Baden,  others  that  I  am  to  be  added 
to  the  Commissioners  for  settling  the  commerce.  In  all  cases  I  am  ready, 
but  in  the  meantime,  die  aliquid  de  tribus  capellis.  Neither  of  these  two 
are,  I  presume,  honours  or  rewards,  neither  of  them  (let  me  say  to  my  dear 
Lord  Bolingbroke,  and  let  him  not  be  angry  with  me,)  are  what  Drift  may 
aspire  to,  and  what  Mr.  Whitworth,  who  was  his  fellow-clerk,  has  or  may 
possess.  I  am  far  from  desiring  to  lessen  the  great  merit  of  the  gentleman 
I  named,  for  I  heartily  esteem  and  love  him;  but  in  this  trade  of  ours,  my 
lord,  in  which  you  are  the  general,  as  in  that  of  the  soldiery,  there  is  a  cer- 
tain right  acquired  by  time  and  long  service.  You  would  do  anything  for 
your  Queen's  service,  but  you  would  not  be  contented  to  descend,  and  be 
degraded  to  a  charge,  no  way  proportioned  to  that  of  Secretary  of  State, 
any  more  that  Mr.  Ross,  though  he  would  charge  a  party  with  a  halbard  in 
his  hand,  would  be  content  all  his  life  after  to  be  Serjeant.  Was  my  Lord 
Dartmouth,  from  Secretary,  returned  again  to  be  Commissioner  of  Trade, 
or  from  Secretary  of  War,  would  Frank  Gwyn  think  himself  kindly  used  to 
be  returned  again  to  be  Commissioner?  In  short,  my  lord,  you  have  put  me 
above  myself,  and  if  I  am  to  return  to  myself,  I  shall  return  to  something 
very  discontented  and  uneasy.  I  am  sure,  my  lord,  you  will  make  the  best 
use  you  can  of  this  hint  for  my  good.  If  I  am  to  have  anything,  it  will 
certainly  be  for  Her  Majesty's  service,  and  the  credit  of  my  friends  in  the 
Ministry,  that  it  be  done  before  I  am  recalled  from  home,  lest  the  world  may 
think  either  that  I  have  merited  to  be  disgraced,  or  that  ye  dare  not  stand 
by  me.  If  nothing  is  to  be  done,  fiat  voluntas  Dei.  I  have  writ  to  Lord 
Treasurer  upon  this  subject,  and  having  implored  your  kind  intercession,  I 
promise  you  it  is  the  last  remonstrance  of  this  kind  that  I  will  ever  make. 
Adieu,  my  lord;  all  honour,  health,  and  pleasure  to  you. 

"  Yours  ever.  Matt." 

"  P,  S. — Lady  Jersey  is  just  gone  from  me.  We  drank  your  healths  to-, 
gether  in  usquebaugh  after  our  tea:  we  are  the  greatest  friends  alive.  Once 
more  adieu.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  the  '  Book  of  Travels  '  you  mentioned; 
if  there  be,  let  friend  Tilson  send  us  more  particular  account  of  them,  for 
neither  I  nor  Jacob  Tonson  can  find  them.  Pray  send  Barton  back  to  me, 
I  hope  with  some  comfortable  tidings." —Bolingbroke's  Letters. 

^"I  asked  whether  Prior's  poems  were  to  be  printed  entire;  Johnson  said 
they  were.  I  mentioned  Lord  Hales'  censure  of  Prior  in  his  preface  to 
a  collection  of  sacred  poems,  by  various  hands,  published  by  him  at  Edin- 
burgh a  great  many  years  ago,  where  he  mentions  '  these  impure  tales,  which 
will  be  the  eternal  opprobrium  of  their  ingenious  author.'  Joiixson:  'Sir, 
Lord  Hales  has  forgot.  There  is  nothing  in  Prior  that  will  excite  to  lewd- 
ness. If  Lord  Hales  thinks  there  is,  he  must  be  more  combustible  than  other 
people.'  I  instanced  the  tale  of  'Paulo  Purganti  and  his  wife.'  Johnsox: 
'  Sir,  there  is  nothing  there  but  that  his  wife  wanted  to  be  kissed,  when  poor 


280  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

In  the  great  society  of  the  wits,  John  Gay  deserved 
to  be  a  favourite,  and  to  have  a  good  place.  ^  In  his  set 
all  were  fond  of  him.  His  success  offended  nobod}^ 
He  missed  a  fortune  once  or  twice.  He  was  talked  of 
for  court  favour,  and  hoped  to  win  it;  but  the  court 
favour  jilted  him.  Craggs  gave  him  some  South  Sea 
Stock;  and  at  one  time  Gay  had  very  nearly  made  his 
fortune.  But  Fortune  shook  her  swift  wings  and  jilted 
him  too :  and  so  his  friends,  instead  of  being  angry  with 
him,  and  jealous  of  him,  were  kind  and  fond  of  honest 
Gay.  In  the  portraits  of  the  literary  worthies  of  the 
early  part  of  the  last  century.  Gay's  face  is  the  pleasant- 
est  perhaps  of  all.  It  appears  adorned  with  neither 
periwig  nor  nightcap  (the  full  dress  and  negligee  of 
learning,  without  which  the  painters  of  those  daj^s 
scarcely  ever  pourtrayed  wits),  and  he  laughs  at  you 
over  his  shoulder  with  an  honest  boyish  glee — an  artless 
sweet  humour.  He  was  so  kind,  so  gentle,  so  jocular, 
so  delightfully  brisk  at  times,  so  dismally  wobegone  at 
others,  such  a  natural  good  creature  that  the  Giants  loved 
him.    The  great  Swift  was  gentle  and  sportive  with  him," 

Paulo  was  out  of  pocket.  No,  sir,  Prior  is  a  lady's  book.  No  lady  is 
ashamed  to  have  it  standing  in  her  library."— Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson. 

^  Gay  was  of  an  old  Devonshire  family,  but  his  pecuniary  prospects  not 
being  great,  was  placed  in  his  youth  in  the  house  of  a  silk-mercer  in  London. 
He  was  born  in  1688— Pope's  year,  and  in  17l!3  the  Duchess  of  Monmouth 
made  him  her  secretary.  Next  year  he  published  his  "  Rural  Sports,"  which 
he  dedicated  to  Pope,  and  so  made  an  acquaintance,  which  became  a  memo- 
rable friendship. 

"  Gay,"  says  Pope,  "  was  quite  a  natural  man,— wholly  without  art  or  de- 
sign, and  spoke  just  what  he  thought  and  as  he  thought  it.  He  dangled  for 
twenty  years  about  a  court,  and  at  last  was  offered  to  be  made  usher  to  the 
young  princesses.  Secretary  Craggs  made  Gay  a  present  of  stock  in  the 
South  Sea  year;  and  he  was  once  worth  20,000/.,  but  lost  it  all  again.  He 
got  about  400/.  by  the  first  '  Beggar's  Opera,'  and  1,100/.  or  1,200/.  by  the 
second.  He  was  negligent  and  a  bad  manager.  Latterly,  the  Duke  of 
Queensbury  took  his  money  into  his  keeping,  and  let  him  only  have  what  was 
necessary  out  of  it,  and,  as  he  lived  with  them,  he  could  not  have  occasion 
for  much.     He  died  worth  upwards  of  3,000/."— Popk.     Spencc'n  Anecdotes. 

^ "  Mr.  Gay  is,  in  all  regards,  as  honest  and  sincere  a  man  as  ever  I  knew." 
—Swift,  To  Lady  Betty  Oermaine,  Jan.  1733, 


Gay 


PRIOR,   GAY,  AND   POPE  281 

as  the  enormous  Brobdingnag  maids  of  honour  were  with 
little  Gulliver.  He  could  frisk  and  fondle  round  Pope/ 
and  sport,  and  bark,  and  caper,  without  offending  the 
most  thin-skinned  of  poets  and  men;  and  when  he  was 
jilted  in  that  little  court  affair  of  which  we  have  spoken, 
his  warm-hearted  patrons  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of 
Queehsberry ^   (the  "Kitty,  beautiful  and  young,"  of 

^"Of  manners  gentle,  of  aflFections  mild; 
In  wit  a  man;  simplicity,  a  child; 
With  native  humour  temp'ring  virtuous  rage, 
Form'd  to  delight  at  once  and  lash  the  age ; 
Above  temptation  in  a  low  estate. 
And  uncorrupted  e'en  among  the  great: 
A  safe  companion,  and  an  easy  friend, 
Unblamed  through  life,  lamented  in  thy  end. 
These  are  thy  honours;  not  that  here  thy  bust 
Is  mixed  with  heroes,  or  with  kings  thy  dust; 
But  that  the  worthy  and  the  good  shall  say. 
Striking  their  pensive  bosoms,  '  Here  lies  Gay.'  " 

Pope's  Epitaph  on  Gay. 
"  A  hare  who,  in  a  civil  way, 
Complied  with  everything,  like  Gay." 

Fables,  "  The  Hare  and  many  Friends." 

' "  I  can  give  you  no  account  of  Gay,"  says  Pope,  curiously,  "  since  he  was 
raffled  for,  and  won  back  by  his  Duchess."— >ror/c»,  Roscoe's  Ed.,  vol.  ix.  p. 
392. 

Here  is  the  letter  Pope  wrote  to  him  when  the  death  of  Queen  Anne 
brought  back  Lord  Clarendon  from  Hanover,  and  lost  him  the  Secretaryship 
of  that  nobleman,  of  which  he  had  had  but  a  short  tenure. 

Gay's  court  prospects  were  never  happy  from  this  time. — His  dedication 
of  the  "  Shepherd's  Week  "  to  Bolingbroke,  Swift  used  to  call  the  "  original 
sin"  which  had  hurt  him  with  the  house  of  Hanover: — 

"  Dear  Mr.  Gay,—  "  Sept.  23,  IIU. 

"  Welcome  to  your  native  soil !  welcome  to  your  friends !  thrice  welcome 
to  me!  whether  returned  in  glory,  blest  with  court  interest,  the  love  and  fa- 
miliarity of  the  great,  and  filled  with  agreeable  hopes;  or  melancholy  with 
dejection,  contemplative  of  the  changes  of  fortune,  and  doubtful  for  the 
future;  whether  returned  a  triumphant  Whig  or  a  desponding  Tory, 
equally  all  hail!  equally  beloved  and  welcome  to  me !  If  happy,  I  am  to 
partake  in  your  elevation;  if  unhappy,  you  have  still  a  warm  corner  in  my 
heart,  and  a  retreat  at  Binfield  in  the  worst  of  times  at  your  service.  If 
you  are  a  Tory,  or  thought  so  by  any  man,  I  know  it  can  proceed  from  noth- 
ing but  your  gratitude  to  a  few  people  who  endeavoured  to  serve  you,  and 
whose  politics  were  never  your  concern.  If  you  are  a  Whig,  as  I  rather  hope, 
and  as  I  think  your  principles  and  mine  (as  brother  poets)  had  ever  a  bias 
to  the  side  of  liberty,  I  know  you  will  be  an  honest  man  and  an  inoffensive 
one.  Upon  the  whole,  I  know  you  are  incapable  of  being  so  much  of  either 
party  as  to  be  good  for  nothing.  Therefore,  once  more,  whatever  you  are  or 
in  whatever  state  you  are,  all  hail! 

"One  or  two  of  your  own  friends  complained  they  had  heard  nothing 


282  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

Prior,)  pleaded  his  cause  with  indignation,  and  quitted 
the  court  in  a  huff,  carrying  off  m  ith  them  into  their  re- 
tirement their  kind  gentle  protege.  With  these  kind 
lordly  folks,  a  real  Duke  and  Duchess,  as  delightful  as 
those  who  harboured  Don  Quixote,  and  loved  that  dear 
old  Sancho,  Gay  lived,  and  Avas  lapped  in  cotton,  and 
had  his  plate  of  chicken,  and  his  saucer  of  cream,  and 
frisked,  and  barked,  and  wheezed,  and  grew  fat,  and  so 
ended.  ^     He  became  very  melancholy  and  lazy,  sadly 

from  you  since  the  Queen's  death;  I  told  them  no  man  living  loved  Mr.  Gay 
better  than  I,  yet  I  had  not  once  written  to  him  in  all  his  voyage.  This  I 
thought  a  convincing  proof  how  truly  one  may  he  a  friend  to  another  without 
telling  him  so  every  month.  But  they  had  reasons,  too,  themselves  to  allege 
in  your  excuse,  as  men  who  really  value  one  another  will  never  want  such  as 
make  their  friends  and  themselves  easy.  The  late  universal  concern  in  public 
affairs  threw  us  all  into  a  hurry  of  spirits:  even  I,  who  am  more  a  phi- 
losopher than  to  expect  anything  from  any  reign,  was  borne  away  with  the 
current,  and  full  of  the  expectation  of  the  successor.  During  your  journeys, 
I  knew  not  whither  to  aim  a  letter  after  you;  that  was  a  sort  of  shooting 
flying:  add  to  this  the  demand  Homer  had  upon  me,  to  write  fifty  verses  a 
day,  besides  learned  notes,  all  of  which  are  at  a  conclusion  for  this  year. 
Rejoice  with  me,  O  my  friend!  that  my  labour  is  over;  come  and  make 
merry  with  me  in  much  feasting.  We  will  feed  among  the  lilies  (by  the  lilies 
I  mean  the  ladies).  Are  not  the  Rosalindas  of  Britain  as  charming  as  the 
Blousaiindas  of  the  Hague?  or  have  the  two  great  Pastoral  poets  of  our  nation 
renounced  love  at  the  same  time?  for  Philips,  immortal  Philips,  hath  de- 
serted, yea,  and  in  a  rustic  manner  kicked  his  Rosalind.  Dr.  Parnell  and  I 
have  been  inseparable  ever  since  you  went.  We  are  now  at  the  Bath,  where 
(if  you  are  not,  as  I  heartily  hope,  better  engaged)  your  coming  would  be 
the  greatest  pleasure  to  us  in  the  world.  Talk  not  of  expenses:  Homer 
shall  support  his  children.  I  beg  a  line  from  you,  directed  to  the  Post- 
house  in  Bath.    Poor  Parnell  is  in  an  ill  state  of  health. 

"  Pardon  me  if  I  add  a  word  of  advice  in  the  poetical  way.  Write  some- 
thing on  the  King,  or  Prince,  or  Princess.  On  whatsoever  foot  you  may  be 
with  the  court,  this  can  do  no  harm.  I  shall  never  know  where  to  end,  and 
am  confounded  in  the  many  things  I  have  to  say  to  you,  though  they  all 
amount  but  to  this,  that  I  am,  entirely,  as  ever, 

"  Your,"  &c. 

Gay  took  the  advice  "  in  the  poetical  way,"  and  published  "  An  Epistle  to 
a  Lady,  occasioned  by  the  arrival  of  her"  Royal  Highness  the  Princess  of 
Wales."  But  though  this  brought  him  access  to  court,  and  the  attendance  of 
the  Prince  and  Princess  at  his  farce  of  the  "  What  d'ye  call  it?"  it  did  not 
bring  him  a  place.  On  the  accession  of  George  II.,  he  was  oflFered  the  situa- 
tion of  Gentleman  Usher  to  tlie  Princess  Ix)uisa  (her  Highness  being  then 
two  years  old)  ;  but  "  liy  this  offer,"  says  Johnson,  "  he  thought  himself  in- 
sulted." 

^  "  Gay  was  a  great  eater.— As  the  French  philosopher  used  to  prove  his 
existence  by  Cogito,  ergo  sum,  the  greatest  proof  of  Gay's  existence  is,  Edit, 
ergo  e,9<."— Congreve,  in  a  Letter  to  Pope.     Spence's  Anecdotes. 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE  283 

plethoric,  and  only  occasionally  diverting  in  his  latter 
days.  But  everybody  loved  him,  and  the  remembrance 
of  his  pretty  little  tricks;  and  the  raging  old  Dean  of 
St.  Patrick's,  chafing  in  his  banishment,  was  afraid  to 
open  the  letter  which  Pope  wrote  him,  announcing  the 
sad  news  of  the  death  of  Gay.^ 

Swift's  letters  to  him  are  beautiful;  and  having  no 
purpose  but  kindness  in  writing  to  him,  no  party  aim  to 
advocate,  or  slight  or  anger  to  wreak,  every  word  the 
Dean  says  to  his  favourite  is  natural,  trustworthy,  and 
kindly.  His  admiration  for  Gay's  parts  and  honesty, 
and  his  laughter  at  his  weaknesses,  were  alike  just  and 
genuine.  He  paints  his  character  in  wonderful  pleasant 
traits  of  jocular  satire.  "  I  writ  lately  to  Mr.  Pope," 
Swift  says,  writing  to  Gay:  "  I  wish  you  had  a  little  vil- 
lakin  in  his  neighbourhood ;  but  you  are  yet  too  volatile, 
and  any  lady  with  a  coach  and  six  horses  would  carry 
you  to  Japan."  "  If  your  ramble,"  says  Swift,  in  an- 
other letter,  "  was  on  horseback,  I  am  glad  of  it,  on  ac- 
count of  your  health;  but  I  know  your  arts  of  patch- 
ing up  a  journey  between  stage-coaches  and  friends' 
coaches— for  you  are  as  arrant  a  cockney  as  any  hosier 
in  Cheapside.    I  have  often  had  it  in  my  head  to  put  in 

'Swift  endorsed  the  letter— "  On  my  dear  friend  Mr.  Gay's  death;  re- 
ceived Dec.  15,  but  not  read  till  the  20th,  by  an  impulse  foreboding  some 
misfortune." 

"  It  was  by  Swift's  interest  that  Gay  was  made  known  to  Lord  Boling- 
broke,  and  obtained  his  patronage."— Scott's  Swift,  vol.  i.  p.  156. 

Pope  wrote  on  the  occasion  of  Gay's  death,  to  Swift,  thus:— 

"  [Dec.  5,  1732.] 

"  .  .  .  .  One  of  the  nearest  and  longest  ties  I  have  ever  had  is  broken 
all  on  a  sudden  by  the  unexpected  death  of  poor  Mr.  Gay.    An  inflammatory 

fever  hurried  him  out  of  this  life  in  three  days He  asked  of 

you  a  few  hours  before  when  in  acute  torment  by  the  inflammation  in  his 

bowels  and  breast His  sisters,  we  suppose,  will  be  his  heirs,  who 

are  two  widows Good  God  !  how  often  are  we  to  die  before  we  go 

quite  oflF  this  stage?  In  every  friend  we  lose  a  part  of  ourselves,  and  the 
best  part.  God  keep  those  we  have  left!  few  are  worth  praying  for,  and 
one's  self  the  least  of  all." 


284  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

into  yours,  that  you  ought  to  have  some  great  work  in 
scheme,  which  may  take  up  seven  years  to  finish,  besides 
two  or  three  under-ones  that  may  add  another  thousand 
pounds  to  your  stock,  and  then  I  shall  be  in  less  pain 
about  you.  I  know  you  can  find  dinners,  but  you  love 
twelvepenny  coaches  too  well,  without  considering  that 
the  interest  of  a  whole  thousand  pounds  brings  you  but 
half-a-crown  a  day."  And  then  Swift  goes  off  from 
Gay  to  pay  some  grand  compliments  to  her  Grace  the 
Duchess  of  Queensberry,  in  whose  sunshine  Mr.  Gay 
was  basking,  and  in  whose  radiance  the  Dean  would 
have  liked  to  warm  himself  too. 

But  we  have  Gay  here  before  us,  in  these  letters — 
lazy,  kindly,  uncommonly  idle;  rather  slovenly,  I'm 
afraid;  for  ever  eating  and  saying  good  things;  a  little 
round  French  abbe  of  a  man,  sleek,  soft-handed,  and 
soft-hearted. 

Our  object  in  these  lectures  is  rather  to  describe  the 
men  than  their  works;  or  to  deal  with  the  latter  only  in 
as  far  as  they  seem  to  illustrate  the  character  of  their 
writers.  Mr.  Gay's  "Fables,"  which  were  written  to 
benefit  that  amiable  Prince,  the  Duke  of  Cumberland, 
the  warrior  of  Dettingen  and  Culloden,  I  have  not,  I 
own,  been  able  to  peruse  since  a  period  of  very  early 
youth;  and  it  must  be  confessed  that  they  did  not  ef- 
fect much  benefit  upon  the  illustrious  young  Prince, 
whose  manners  they  were  intended  to  mollify,  and 
whose  natural  ferocity  our  gentle-hearted  Satirist  per- 
haps proposed  to  restrain.  But  the  six  pastorals  called 
the  "  Shepherd's  Week,"  and  the  burlesque  poem  of 
"  Trivia,"  any  man  fond  of  lazy  literature  will  find  de- 
lightful at  the  present  day,  and  must  read  from  begin- 
ning to  end  with  pleasure.     They  are  to  poetry  what 


PRIOR,   GAY,   AND  POPE  285 

charming  little  Dresden  china  figures  are  to  sculpture: 
graceful,  minikin,  fantastic;  with  a  certain  beauty  always 
accompanying  them.    The  pretty  little  personages  of  the 
pastoral,  with  gold  clocks  to  their  stockings,  and  fresh 
satin  ribbons  to  their  crooks  and  waistcoats  and  bodices, 
dance  their  loves  to  a  minuet-tune  played  on  a  bird-or- 
gan, approach  the  charmer,  or  rush  from  the  false  one 
daintily  on  their  red-heeled  tip-toes,  and  die  of  despair 
or  rapture,  with  the  most  pathetic  little  grins  and  ogles; 
or  repose,  simpering  at  each  other,  under  an  arbour  of 
pea-green  crockery ;  or  piping  to  pretty  flocks  that  have 
just  been  washed  with  the  best  Naples  in  a  stream  of 
Bergamot.    Gay's  gay  plan  seems  to  me  far  pleasanter 
than  that  of  Phillips— his  rival  and  Pope's— a  serious 
and  dreary  idyllic  cockney;  not  that  Gay's  "  Bumkinets  " 
and  "Hobnelias"  are  a  whit  more  natural  than  the 
w^ould-be  serious  characters  of  the  other  posture-master; 
but  the  quality  of  this  true  humourist  was  to  laugh  and 
make  laugh,  though  always  with  a  secret  kindness  and 
tenderness,   to   perform  the   drollest  little   antics   and 
capers,  but  always  with  a  certain  grace,  and  to  sweet 
music— as  you  may  have  seen  a  Savoyard  boy  abroad, 
with  a  hurdy-gurdy  and  a  monkey,  turning  over  head 
and  heels,  or  clattering  and  pirouetting  in  a  pair  of 
wooden  shoes,  yet  always  with  a  look  of  love  and  appeal 
in  his  bright  eyes,  and  a  smile  that  asks  and  wins  affec- 
tion and  protection.    Happy  they  who  have  that  sweet 
gift  of  nature!   It  was  this  which  made  the  great  folks 
and  court  ladies  free  and  friendly  with  John  Gay — 
which   made   Pope   and   Arbuthnot    love    him— which 
melted  the  savage  heart  of  Swift  when  he  thought  of 
him— and  drove  away,  for  a  moment  or  two,  the  dark 
frenzies  which  obscured  the  lonely  tyrant's  brain,  as  he 


286  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

heard  Gay's  voice  with  its  simple  melody  and  artless 
ringing  laughter. 

What  used  to  be  said  about  Rubini,  quil  avail  des 
larmes  dans  la  voix,  may  be  said  of  Gay,^  and  of  one 
other  humourist  of  whom  we  shall  have  to  speak.  In 
almost  every  ballad  of  his,  however  slight,^  in  the  "  Beg- 

^  "  Gay,  like  Goldsmith,  had  a  musical  talent.  '  He  could  play  on  the  flute,' 
says  Malone,  '  and  was,  therefore,  enabled  to  adapt  so  happily  some  of  the 
airs  in  the  "  Beggar's  Opera."  '  " — Notes  to  Speiice. 

'  "  'Twas  when  the  seas  were  roaring 

With  hollow  blasts  of  wind, 
A  damsel  lay  deploring 

All  on  a  rock  reclined. 
Wide  o'er  the  foaming  billows 

She  cast  a  wistful  look; 
Her  head  was  crown'd  with  willows 

That  trembled  o'er  the  brook, 

"  '  Twelve  months  are  gone  and  over. 

And  nine  long  tedious  days; 
Why  didst  thou,  venturous  lover — 

Why  didst  thou  trust  the  seas? 
Cease,  cease,  thou  cruel  Ocean, 

And  let  my  lover  rest; 
Ah !  what's  thy  troubled  motion 

To  that  within  my  breast? 

" '  The  merchant,  robb'd  of  pleasure. 

Sees  tempests  in  despair; 
But  what's  the  loss  of  treasure 

To  losing  of  my  dear? 
Should  you  some  coast  be  laid  on. 

Where  gold  and  diamonds  grow. 
You'd  find  a  richer  maiden. 

But  none  that  loves  you  so. 

" '  How  can  they  say  that  Nature 

Has  nothing  made  in  vain; 
Why,  then,  beneath  the  water 

Should  hideous  rocks  remain? 
No  eyes  the  rocks  discover 

That  lurk  beneath  the  deep, 
To  wreck  the  wandering  lover. 

And  leave  the  maid  to  weep?' 

"  All  melancholy  lying. 

Thus  wailed  she  for  her  dear; 
Repay'd  each  blast  with  sighing. 

Each  billow  with  a  tear; 
When  o'er  the  white  wave  stooping. 

His   floating  corpse  she  spy'd; 
Then  like  a  lily  drooping. 

She  bow'd  lier  head,  and  died." 

—A   Ballad  from  the  "  What  d'ye  call  it?" 


PRIOR,   GAY,  AND   POPE  287 

gar's  Opera  "^  and  in  its  wearisome  continuation  (where 
the  verses  are  to  the  full  as  pretty  as  in  the  first  piece, 
however) ,  there  is  a  peculiar,  hinted,  pathetic  sweetness 
and  melody.  It  charms  and  melts  you.  It's  indefinable, 
but  it  exists;  and  is  the  property  of  John  Gay's  and 
Oliver  Goldsmith's  best  verse,  as  fragrance  is  of  a  vio- 
let, or  freshness  of  a  rose. 

Let  me  read  a  piece  from  one  of  his  letters,  which  is 
so  famous  that  most  people  here  are  no  doubt  familiar 
with  it,  but  so  delightful  that  it  is  always  pleasant  to 
hear:— 

"  I  have  just  passed  part  of  this  summer  at  an  old  romantic 
seat  of  my  Lord  Harcourt's  which  he  lent  me.  It  overlooks  a 
common  field,  where,  under  the  shade  of  a  haycock,  sat  two 
lovers — as  constant  as  ever  were  found  in  romance — beneath  a 
spreading  beech.  The  name  of  the  one  (let  it  sound  as  it  will) 
was  John  Hewett;  of  the  other  Sarah  Drew.  John  was  a  well- 
set  man,  about  five  and  twenty ;  Sarah  a  brown  woman  of 
eighteen.     John  had  for  several  months  borne  the  labour  of  the 

"  What  can  be  prettier  than  Gay's  ballad,  or,  rather,  Swift's,  Arbuthnot's, 
Pope's  and  Gay's,  in  the  'What  d'ye  call  it?'  ' 'Twas  when  the  seas  were 
roaring?'  I  have  been  well  informed  that  they  all  contributed."— Cotcper  to 
Unwin,  1783. 

^ "  Dr.  Swift  had  been  observing  once  to  Mr.  Gay,  what  an  odd  pretty  sort 
of  thing  a  Newgate  Pastoral  might  make.  Gay  was  inclined  to  try  at  such 
a  thing  for  some  time,  but  afterwards  thought  it  would  be  better  to  write  a 
comedy  on  the  same  plan.  This  was  what  gave  rise  to  the  '  Beggar's  Opera.' 
He  began  on  it,  and  when  he  first  mentioned  it  to  Swift,  the  Doctor  did 
not  much  like  the  project.  As  he  carried  it  on,  he  showed  what  he  wrote  to 
both  of  us;  and  we  now  and  then  gave  a  correction,  or  a  word  or  two  of 
advice;  but  it  was  wholly  of  his  own  writing.  When  it  was  done,  neither  of 
us  thought  it  would  succeed.  We  showed  it  to  Congreve,  who,  after  reading 
it  over,  said,  '  It  would  either  take  greatly,  or  be  damned  confoundedly.' 
We  were  all  at  the  first  night  of  it,  in  great  uncertainty  of  the  event,  till  we 
were  very  much  encouraged  by  overhearing  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  who  sat  in 
the  next  box  to  us,  say,  'It  will  do— it  must  do!— I  see  it  in  the  eyes  of 
them ! '  This  was  a  good  while  before  the  first  act  was  over,  and  so  gave  us 
ease  soon;  for  the  Duke  [besides  his  own  good  taste]  has  a  more  particular 
knack  than  any  one  now  living  in  discovering  the  taste  of  the  public.  He 
was  quite  right  in  this  as  usual;  the  good  nature  of  the  audience  appeared 
stronger  and  stronger  every  act,  and  ended  in  a  clamour  of  applause." — 
Pope.    Spence's  Anecdotes. 


288  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

day  in  the  same  field  with  Sarah;  when  she  milked,  it  was  his 
morning  and  evening  charge  to  bring  the  cows  to  her  pail. 
Their  love  was  the  talk,  but  not  the  scandal,  of  the  whole  neigh- 
bourhood, for  all  they  aimed  at  was  the  blameless  possession  of 
each  other  in  marriage.  It  was  but  this  very  morning  that  he 
had  obtained  her  parents'  consent,  and  it  was  but  till  the  next 
week  that  they  were  to  wait  to  be  happy.  Perhaps  this  very 
day,  in  the  intervals  of  their  work,  they  were  talking  of  their 
wedding-clothes ;  and  John  was  now  matching  several  kinds  of 
poppies  and  field-flowers  to  her  complexion,  to  make  her  a  pres- 
ent of  knots  for  the  day.  While  they  were  thus  employed  (it  was 
on  the  last  of  July),  a  terrible  storm  of  thunder  and  lightning 
arose,  that  drove  the  labourers  to  what  shelter  the  trees  or 
hedges  afforded.  Sarah,  frightened  and  out  of  breath,  sunk 
on  a  haycock;  and  John  (who  never  separated  from  her),  sat 
by  her  side,  having  raked  two  or  three  heaps  together,  to  secure 
her.  Immediately  there  was  heard  so  loud  a  crack,  as  if  heaven 
had  burst  asunder.  The  labourers,  all  solicitous  for  each  others* 
safety,  called  to  one  another :  those  that  were  nearest  our  lovers, 
hearing  no  answer,  stepped  to  the  place  where  they  lay:  they 
first  saw  a  little  smoke,  and  after,  this  faithful  pair — John, 
with  one  arm  about  his  Sarah's  neck,  and  the  other  held  over 
her  face,  as  if  to  screen  her  from  the  lightning.  They  were 
struck  dead,  and  already  grown  stiff  and  cold  in  this  tender 
posture.  There  was  no  mark  or  discolouring  on  their  bodies  — 
only  that  Sarah's  eyebrow  was  a  little  singed,  and  a  small  spot 
between  her  breasts.  They  were  buried  the  next  day  in  one 
grave." 

And  the  proof  that  this  description  is  delightful  and 
beautiful  is,  that  the  great  Mr.  Pope  admired  it  so 
much  that  he  thought  proper  to  steal  it  and  to  send  it 
off  to  a  certain  lady  and  wit,  with  whom  he  pretended 
to  be  in  love  in  those  days— my  Lord  Duke  of  Kings- 
ton's daughter,  and  married  to  Mr.  Wortley  INIontagu, 
then  his  Majesty's  Ambassador  at  Constantinople.. 


Pope 


PRIOR,   GAY,   AND   POPE  289 

We  are  now  come  to  the  greatest  name  on  our  list— 
the  highest  among  the  poets,  the  highest  among  the 
Enghsh  wits  and  humourists  with  whom  we  have  to 
rank  him.  If  the  author  of  the  "Dunciad"  be  not  a 
humourist,  if  the  poet  of  the  "Rape  of  the  Lock"  be 
not  a  wit,  who  deserves  to  be  called  so?  Besides  that 
briUiant  genius  and  immense  fame,  for  both  of  which 
we  should  respect  him,  men  of  letters  should  admire 
him  as  being  the  greatest  literary  artist  that  England 
has  seen.  He  polished,  he  refined,  he  thought;  he  took 
thoughts  from  other  works  to  adorn  and  complete  his 
own ;  borrowing  an  idea  or  a  cadence  from  another  poet 
as  he  would  a  figure  or  a  simile  from  a  flower,  or  a  river, 
stream,  or  any  object  which  struck  him  in  his  walk,  or 
contemplation  of  Nature.  He  began  to  imitate  at  an 
early  age;^  and  taught  himself  to  write  by  copying 
printed  books.  Then  he  passed  into  the  hands  of  the 
priests,  and  from  his  first  clerical  master,  who  came 

^"Waller,  Spenser,  and  Dryden  were  Mr.  Pope's  great  favourites,  in  the 
order  they  are  named,  in  his  first  reading,  till  he  was  about  twelve  years  old." 
—Pope.    S fence's  Anecdotes. 

"  Mr.  Pope's  father  (who  was  an  honest  merchant,  and  dealt  in  Hollands, 
wholesale)  was  no  poet,  but  he  used  to  set  him  to  make  English  verses  when 
very  young.  He  was  pretty  difficult  in  being  pleased;  and  used  often  to 
send  him  back  to  new  turn  them.  'These  are  not  good  rhimes;'  for  that 
was  my  husband's  word  for  verses."— Pope's  Mother.     Spence. 

"  I  wrote  things,  I'm  ashamed  to  say  how  soon.  Part  of  an  Epic  Poem 
when  about  twelve.  The  scene  of  it  lay  at  Rhodes  and  some  of  the  neigh- 
bouring islands;  and  the  poem  opened  under  water  with  a  description  of  the 
Court  of  Neptune."— Pope.     Ibid. 

"  His  perpetual  application  (after  he  set  to  study  of  himself)  reduced  him 
in  four  years'  time  to  so  bad  a  state  of  health,  that,  after  trying  physicians 
for  a  good  while  in  vain,  he  resolved  to  give  way  to  his  distemper;  and  sat 
down  calmly  in  a  full  expectation  of  death  in  a  short  time.  Under  this 
thought,  he  wrote  letters  to  take  a  last  farewell  of  some  of  his  more  particu- 
lar friends,  and,  among  the  rest,  one  to  the  Abbe  Southcote.  The 
Abb^  was  extremely  concerned,  both  for  his  very  ill  state  of  health  and  the 
resolution  he  said  he  had  taken.  He  thought  there  might  yet  be  hope,  and 
went  immediately  to  Dr.  Radcliffe,  with  whom  he  was  well  acquainted,  told 
him  Mr.  Pope's  case,  got  full  directions  from  him,  and  carried  them  down 
to  Pope  in  Windsor  Forest.  The  chief  thing  the  Doctor  ordered  him  was  to 
apply  less,  and  to  ride  every  day.  The  following  his  advice  soon  restored 
him  to  his  health."— Pope.    Spence. 


290  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

to  him  when  he  was  eight  j^ears  old,  he  went  to  a  school 
at  Twyford,  and  another  school  at  Hyde  Park,  at  which 
places  he  unlearned  all  that  he  had  got  from  his  first 
instructor.  At  twelve  years  old,  he  went  with  his  father 
into  Windsor  Forest,  and  there  learned  for  a  few 
months  under  a  fourth  priest.  "And  this  was  all  the 
teaching  I  ever  had,"  he  said,  "  and  God  knows  it  ex- 
tended a  very  little  way." 

When  he  had  done  with  his  priests  he  took  to  reading 
by  himself,  for  which  he  had  a  very  great  eagerness  and 
enthusiasm,  especially  for  poetry.  He  learned  versi- 
fication from  Dryden,  he  said.  In  his  youthful  poem 
of  "Alcander,"  he  imitated  every  poet,  Cowley,  Milton, 
Spenser,  Statins,  Homer,  Virgil.  In  a  few  years  he 
had  dipped  into  a  great  number  of  the  English,  French, 
Italian,  Latin,  and  Greek  poets.  "  This  I  did,"  he  says, 
"without  any  design,  except  to  amuse  myself;  and  got 
the  languages  by  hunting  after  the  stories  in  the  several 
poets  I  read,  rather  than  read  the  books  to  get  the 
languages.  I  followed  everywhere  as  my  fancy  led 
me,  and  was  like  a  boy  gathering  flowers  in  the  fields 
and  woods,  just  as  they  fell  in  his  way.  These  five  or 
six  years  I  looked  upon  as  the  happiest  in  my  life."  Is 
not  here  a  beautiful  holiday  picture?  The  forest  and 
the  fairy  story-book— the  boy  spelling  Ariosto  or  Virgil 
under  the  trees,  battling  with  the  Cid  for  the  love  of 
Chimene,  or  dreaming  of  Armida's  garden— peace  and 
sunshine  round  about— the  kindest  love  and  tenderness 
waiting  for  him  at  his  quiet  home  yonder— and  Genius 
throbbing  in  his  young  heart,  and  whispering  to  him, 
"  You  shall  be  great;  you  shall  be  famous;  you  too  shall 
love  and  sing ;  you  will  sing  her  so  nobly  that  some  kind 
heart  shall  forget  you  are  weak  and  ill-formed.    Every 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND   POPE  291 

poet  had  a  love.  Fate  must  give  one  to  you  too,"— 
and  day  by  day  he  walks  the  forest,  very  likely  looking 
out  for  that  charmer.  "  They  were  the  happiest  days 
of  his  life,"  he  says,  when  he  was  only  dreaming  of  his 
fame:  when  he  had  gained  that  mistress  she  was  no 
consoler. 

That  charmer  made  her  appearance,  it  would  seem, 
about  the  year  1705,  when  Pope  was  seventeen.    Letters 

of  his  are  extant,  addressed  to  a  certain  Lady  M , 

whom  the  youth  courted,  and  to  whom  he  expressed  his 
ardour  in  language,  to  say  no  worse  of  it,  that  is  en- 
tirely pert,  odious,  and  affected.  He  imitated  love- 
compositions  as  he  had  been  imitating  love-poems  just 
before— it  was  a  sham  mistress  he  courted,  and  a  sham 
passion,  expressed  as  became  it.  These  unlucky  letters 
found  their  way  into  print  years  afterwards,  and  were 
sold  to  the  congenial  Mr.  Curll.  If  any  of  my  hearers, 
as  I  hope  they  may,  should  take  a  fancy  to  look  at  Pope's 
correspondence,  let  them  pass  over  that  first  part  of  it; 
over,  perhaps,  almost  all  Pope's  letters  to  women;  in 
which  there  is  a  tone  of  not  pleasant  gallantry,  and, 
amidst  a  profusion  of  compliments  and  politenesses,  a 
something  which  makes  one  distrust  the  little  pert, 
prurient  bard.  There  is  very  little  indeed  to  say  about 
his  loves,  and  that  little  not  edifying.  He  wrote  flames 
and  raptures  and  elaborate  verse  and  prose  for  Lady 
Mary  Wortley  Montagu;  but  that  passion  probably 
came  to  a  climax  in  an  impertinence  and  was  extin- 
guished by  a  box  on  the  ear,  or  some  such  rebuff,  and  he 
began  on  a  sudden  to  hate  her  with  a  fervour  much  more 
genuine  than  that  of  his  love  had  been.  It  was  a  feeble, 
puny  grimace  of  love,  and  paltering  with  passion. 
After  Mr.  Pope  had  sent  off  one  of  his  fine  composi- 


292  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

tions  to  Lady  ISIary,  he  made  a  second  draft  from  the 
rough  copy,  and  favoured  some  other  friend  with  it. 
He  was  so  charmed  with  the  letter  of  Gay's  that  I  have 
just  quoted,  that  he  had  copied  that  and  amended  it, 
and  sent  it  to  Lady  Mary  as  his  own.  A  gentleman 
who  writes  letters  a  deux  fins,  and  after  having  poured 
out  his  heart  to  the  beloved,  serves  up  the  same  dish 
rechauffe  to  a  friend,  is  not  very  much  in  earnest  about 
his  loves,  however  much  he  may  be  in  his  piques  and 
vanities  when  his  impertinence  gets  its  due. 

But,  save  that  unlucky  part  of  the  "  Pope  Correspon- 
dence," I  do  not  know,  in  the  range  of  our  literature, 
volumes  more  dehghtful.^     You  live  in  them  in  the 

^ "  Mb.  Pope  to  the  Rev.  Mb.  Bboom,  Pulham,  Nobfolk. 

"DeaeSib,-  Aug.  ^mh,  lim. 

"  I  INTENDED  to  write  to  you  on  this  melancholy  subject,  the  death  of  Mr. 
Fenton,  before  yours  came,  but  stayed  to  have  informed  myself  and  you  of 
the  circumstances  of  it.  All  I  hear  is,  that  he  felt  a  gradual  decay,  though 
so  early  in  life,  and  was  declining  for  five  or  six  months.  It  was  not,  as  I 
apprehended,  the  gout  in  his  stomach,  but,  I  believe,  rather  a  complication 
first  of  gross  humours,  as  he  was  naturally  corpulent,  not  discharging  them- 
selves, as  he  used  no  sort  of  exercise.  No  man  better  bore  the  approaches 
of  his  dissolution  (as  I  am  told),  or  with  less  ostentation  yielded  up  his  being. 
The  great  modesty  which  you  know  was  natural  to  him,  and  the  great  con- 
tempt he  had  for  all  sorts  of  vanity  and  parade,  never  appeared  more  than 
in  his  last  moments:  he  had  a  conscious  satisfaction  (no  doubt)  in  acting 
right,  in  feeling  himself  honest,  true,  and  unpretending  to  more  than  his 
own.    So  he  died  as  he  lived,  with  that  secret,  yet  sufficient  contentment. 

"As  to  any  papers  left  behind  him,  I  dare  say  they  can  be  but  few;  for 
this  reason,  he  never  wrote  out  of  vanity,  or  thought  much  of  the  applause 
of  men.  I  know  an  instance  when  he  did  his  utmost  to  conceal  his  own  merit 
that  way;  and  if  we  join  to  this  his  natural  love  of  ease,  I  fancy  we  must 
expect  little  of  this  sort:  at  least,  I  have  heard  of  none,  except  some  few 
further  remarks  on  Waller  (which  his  cautious  integrity  made  him  leave  an 
order  to  be  given  to  Mr.  Tonson),  and  perhaps,  though  it  is  many  years  since 
I  saw  it,  a  translation  of  the  first  book  of  '  Oppian.'  He  had  begun  a 
tragedy  of  '  Dion,'  but  made  small  progress  in  it. 

"  As  to  his  other  affairs,  he  died  poor  but  honest,  leaving  no  debts  or 
legacies,  except  of  a  few  pounds  to  Mr.  Trumbull  and  my  lady,  in  token  of 
respect,  gratefulness,  and  mutual  esteem. 

"  I  shall  with  pleasure  take  upon  me  to  draw  this  amiable,  quiet,  deserving, 
unpretending,  Christian,  and  philosophical  character  in  his  epitaph.  There 
truth  may  be  spoken  in  a  few  words;  as  for  flourish,  and  oratory,  and 
poetry,  I  leave  them  to  younger  and  more  lively  writers,  such  as  love  writing 
for  writing's  sake,  and  would  rather  show  their  own  fine  parts  than  report 
the  valuable  ones  of  any  other  man.    So  the  elegy  I  renounce. 


PRIOR,   GAY,  AND   POPE  293 

finest  company  in  tlie  world.  A  little  stately,  perhaps; 
a  little  apprete  and  conscious  that  they  are  speaking 

"  I  condole  with  you  from  my  heart  on  the  loss  of  so  worthy  a  man,  and 
a  friend  to  us  both 

"Adieu;  let  us  love  his  memory  and  profit  by  his  example.  Am  very 
sincerely,  dear  sir,  Your  affectionate  and  real  servant." 

"  To  THE  Earl  of  Burlington. 
"  My  Lord,  August,  1714. 

"  If  your  mare  could  speak  she  would  give  you  an  account  of  what  extra- 
ordinary company  she  had  on  the  road,  which,  since  she  cannot  do,  I  will. 

"  It  was  the  enterprising  Mr.  Lintot,  the  redoubtable  rival  of  Mr.  Tonson, 
who,  mounted  on  a  stone-horse,  overtook  me  in  Windsor  Forest.  He  said  he 
heard  I  designed  for  Oxford,  the  seat  of  the  Muses,  and  would,  as  my  book- 
seller, by  all  means  accompany  me  thither. 

"  I  asked  him  where  he  got  his  horse?  He  answered  he  got  it  of  his  pub- 
lisher; 'for  that  rogue,  my  printer,'  said  he,  'disappointed  me.  I  hoped  to 
put  him  in  good  humour  by  a  treat  at  the  tavern  of  a  brown  fricassee  of 
rabbits,  which  cost  ten  shillings,  with  two  quarts  of  wine,  besides  my  con- 
versation. I  thought  myself  cock-sure  of  his  horse,  wliich  he  readily  prom- 
ised me,  but  said  that  Mr.  Tonson  had  just  such  another  design  of  going  to 
Cambridge,  expecting  there  the  copy  of  a  new  kind  of  Horace   from  Dr. 

;  and  if  Mr.  Tonson  went,  he  was  pre-engaged  to  attend  him,  being  to 

have  the  printing  of  the  said  copy.  So,  in  short,  I  borrowed  this  stone-horse 
of  my  publisher,  which  he  had  of  Mr.  Oldmixon  for  a  debt.  He  lent  me,  too, 
the  pretty  boy  you  see  after  me.  He  was  a  smutty  dog  yesterday,  and  cost 
me  more  than  two  hours  to  wash  the  ink  off  his  face;  but  the  devil  is  a  fair- 
conditioned  devil,  and  very  forward  in  his  catechism.  If  you  have  any  more 
bags  he  shall  carry  them.' 

"  I  thought  Mr.  Lintot's  civility  not  to  be  neglected,  so  gave  the  boy  a 
small  bag  containing  three  shirts  and  an  Elzevir  Virgil,  and,  mounting  in  an 
instant,  proceeded  on  the  road,  with  my  man  before,  my  courteous  stationer 
beside,  and  the  aforesaid  devil  behind. 

"Mr.  Lintot  began  in  this  manner:  'Now,  damn  them!  What  if  they 
should  put  it  into  the  newspaper  how  you  and  I  went  together  to  Oxford? 
What  would  I  care?  If  I  should  go  down  into  Sussex  they  would  say  I  was 
gone  to  the  Speaker;  but  what  of  that?  If  my  son  were  but  big  enough  to 
go  on  with  the  business,  by  G — d,  I  would  keep  as  good  company  as  old 
Jacob.' 

"  Hereupon,  I  inquired  of  his  son.  '  The  lad '  says  he,  '  has  fine  parts,  but 
is  somewhat  sickly,  much  as  you  are.  I  spare  for  nothing  in  his  education 
at  Westminster.  Pray,  don't  you  think  Westminster  to  be  the  best  school 
in  England?  Most  of  the  late  Ministry  came  out  of  it;  so  did  many  of 
this  Ministry.    I  hope  the  boy  will  make  his  fortune.' 

" '  Don't  you  design  to  let  him  pass  a  year  at  Oxford  ? '  'To  what  pur- 
pose?' said  he.  'The  Universities  do  but  make  pedants,  and  I  intend  to 
breed  him  a  man  of  business.' 

"  As  Mr.  Lintot  was  talking  I  observed  he  sat  uneasy  on  his  saddle,  for 
which  I  expressed  some  solicitude.  '  Nothing '  says  he.  '  I  can  bear  it  well 
enough;  but,  since  we  have  the  day  before  us,  methinks  it  would  be  very 
pleasant  for  you  to  rest  awhile  under  the  woods.'  When  we  were  alighted, 
'  See,  here,  what  a  mighty  pretty  Horace  I  have  in  my  pocket?  What,  if  you 
amused  yourself  in  turning  an  ode  till  we  mount  again?  Lord!  if  you 
pleased,  what  a  clever  miscellany  might  you  make  at  leisure  hours?'  'Per- 
haps I  may,'  said  I,  '  if  we  ride  on:  the  motion  is  an  aid  to  my  fancy;  a  round 


294  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

to  whole  generations  who  are  listening;  but  in  the  tone 
of  their  voices— pitched,  as  no  doubt  they  are,  beyond 

trot  very  much  awakens  my  spirits;  then  jog  on  apace,  and  I'll  think  as 
hard  as  I  can.' 

"Silence  ensued  for  a  full  hour;  after  which  Mr.  Lintot  lugged  the  reins, 
stopped  short,  and  broke  out,  'Well,  sir,  how  far  have  you  gone?'  I  an- 
swered, seven  miles.  '  Z — ds,  sir,'  said  Lintot,  '  I  thought  you  had  done 
seven  stanzas.  Oldsworth,  in  a  ramble  round  Wimbledon  Hill,  would  trans- 
late a  whole  ode  in  half  this  time.  I'll  say  that  for  Oldsworth  [though  I  lost 
by  his  Timothy's],  he  translates  an  ode  of  Horace  the  quickest  of  any  man 
in  England.  I  remember  Dr.  King  would  write  verses  in  a  tavern,  three 
hours  after  he  could  not  speak:  and  there  is  Sir  Richard,  in  that  rumbling 
old  chariot  of  his,  between  Fleet  Ditch  and  St.  Giles's  Pound,  shall  make 
you  half  a  Job.' 

"  '  Pray,  Mr.  Lintot,'  said  I,  '  now  you  talk  of  translators,  what  is  your 
method  of  managing  them.*'  'Sir,'  replied  he,  'these  are  the  saddest  pack 
of  rogues  in  the  world:  in  a  hungry  fit,  they'll  swear  they  understand  all 
the  languages  in  the  universe.  1  have  known  one  of  them  take  down  a 
Greek  book  upon  my  counter  and  cry,  "  Ah,  this  is  Hebrew,  and  must  read 
it  from  tlie  latter  end."  By  G — d,  1  can  never  be  sure  in  these  fellows,  for 
I  neither  understand  Greek,  Latin,  French,  nor  Italian  myself.  But  this  is 
my  way:  I  agree  with  them  for  ten  shillings  per  sheet,  with  a  proviso  that  I 
will  have  their  doings  corrected  with  whom  I  please;  so  by  one  or  the  other 
they  are  led  at  last  to  the  true  sense  of  an  author;  my  judgment  giving  the 
negative  to  all  my  translators.'  '  1  hen  how  are  you  sure  these  correctors  may 
not  impose  upon  you?'  'Why,  I  get  any  civil  gentleman  (especially  any 
Scotchman)  that  comes  into  my  shop,  to  read  the  original  to  me  in  English; 
by  this  I  know  whether  my  first  translator  be  deficient,  and  whether  my  cor- 
rector merits  his  money  or  not. 

"  '  ril  tell  you  what  happened  to  me  last  month.     I  bargained  with  S 

for  a  new  version  of  "  Lucretius,"  to  publish  against  Tonson's,  agreeing  to 
pay  the  author  so  many  shillings  at  his  producing  so  many  lines.  He  made 
a  great  progress  in  a  very  short  time,  and  I  gave  it  to  the  corrector  to  com- 
pare with  the  Latin;  but  he  went  directly  to  Creech's  translation,  and  found 
it  the  same,  word  for  word,  all  but  the  first  page.  Now,  what  d'ye  think  I 
did?  I  arrested  the  translator  for  a  cheat;  nay,  and  I  stopped  the  corrector's 
pay,  too,  upon  the  proof  that  he  had  made  use  of  Creech  instead  of  the 
original.' 

" '  Pray  tell  me  next  how  you  deal  with  the  critics  ? '  '  Sir,'  said  he, 
'nothing  more  easy.  I  can  silence  the  most  formidable  of  them:  the  rich 
ones  for  a  sheet  apiece  of  the  blotted  manuscript,  which  cost  me  nothing; 
they'll  go  about  with  it  to  their  acquaintance,  and  pretend  they  had  it  from 
the  author,  who  submitted  it  to  their  correction:  this  has  given  some  of  them 
such  an  air,  that  in  time  they  come  to  be  consulted  with  and  dedicated  to  as 
the  tip-top  critics  of  the  town.  — As  for  the  poor  critics,  I'll  give  you  one 
instance  of  my  management,  by  which  you  may  guess  the  rest:  A  lean  man, 
that  looked  like  a  very  good  scholar,  came  to  me  t'other  day;  he  turned  over 
your  Homer,  shook  his  head,  shrugged  up  his  shoulders,  and  pish'd  at  every 
line  of  it.  "  One  would  wonder,"  says  he,  "  at  the  strange  presumption  of 
some  men;  Homer  is  no  such  easy  task  as  every  stripling,  every  versifier"  — 
he  was  going  on  when  my  wife  called  to  dinner.  "  Sir,"  said  I,  "  will  you 
please  to  eat  a  piece  of  beef  with  me?"  "Mr.  Lintot,"  said  he,  "  I  am  very 
sorry  you  should  be  at  the  expense  of  this  great  book:  I  am  really  concerned 
on  your  account."  "Sir,  I  am  much  obliged  to  j'ou:  if  you  can  dine  upon  a 
piece  of  beef,  together  with  a  slice  of  pudding ?  "  — "  Mr.  Lintot,  I  do  not 


PRIOR,   GAY,   AND   POPE  295 

the  mere  conversation  key— in  the  expression  of  their 
thoughts,  their  various  views  and  natures,  there  is  some- 
say  but  Mr.  Pope,  if  he  would  condescend  to  advise  with  men  of  learning " 

—"Sir,  the  pudding  is  upon  the  table,  if  you  please  to  go  in."  My  critic 
complies;  he  comes  to  a  taste  of  your  poetry,  and  tells  me  in  the  same  breath 
that  the  book  is  commendable,  and  the  pudding  excellent. 

" '  Now,  sir,'  continued  Mr.  Lintot,  '  in  return  for  the  frankness  I  have 
shown,  pray  tell  me,  is  it  the  opinion  of  your  friends  at  court  that  my  Lord 
Lansdowne  will  be  brought  to  the  bar  or  not? '  I  told  him  I  heard  he  would 
not,  and  I  hoped  it,  my  lord  being  one  I  had  particular  obligations  to.— 

'  That  may  be,'  replied  Mr.  Lintot;  '  but  by  G if  he  is  not,  I  shall  lose  the 

printing  of  a  very  good  trial.' 

"  These,  my  lord,  are  a  few  traits  with  which  you  discern  the  genius  of  Mr. 
Lintot,  which  I  have  chosen  for  the  subject  of  a  letter.  I  dropped  him  as 
soon  as  I  got  to  Oxford,  and  paid  a  visit  to  my  Lord  Carleton,  at  Middle- 
ton.  ...  "I  am,"  &c. 

"  Dr.  Swift  to  Mr.  Pope. 

"Sept.  29,  1725. 

"  I  am  now  returning  to  the  noble  scene  of  Dublin— into  the  grand  monde  — 
for  fear  of  burying  my  parts;  to  signalize  myself  among  curates  and  vicars, 
and  correct  all  corruptions  crept  in  relating  to  the  weight  of  bread-and- 
butter  through  those  dominions  where  I  govern.  I  have  employed  my  time 
(besides  ditching)  in  finishing,  correcting,  amending,  and  transcribing 
my  'Travels'  [Gulliver's],  in  four  parts  complete,  newly  augmented,  and 
intended  for  the  press  when  the  world  shall  deserve  them,  or  rather,  when  a 
printer  shall  be  found  brave  enough  to  venture  his  ears.  I  like  the  scheme 
of  our  meeting  after  distresses  and  dispersions;  but  the  chief  end  I  propose 
to  myself  in  all  my  labours  is  to  vex  the  world  rather  than  divert  it;  and  if 
I  could  compass  that  design  without  hurting  my  own  person  or  fortune,  I 
would  be  the  most  indefatigable  writer  you  have  ever  seen,  without  reading. 
I  am  exceedingly  pleased  that  you  have  done  with  translations;  Lord 
Treasurer  Oxford  often  lamented  that  a  rascally  world  should  lay  you  under 
a  necessity  of  misemploying  your  genius  for  so  long  a  time;  but  since  you 
will  now  be  so  much  better  employed,  when  you  think  of  the  world,  give  it 
one  lash  the  more  at  my  request.  I  have  ever  hated  all  nations,  professions, 
and  communities;  and  all  my  love  is  towards  individuals— for  instance,  I 
hate  the  tribe  of  lawyers,  but  I  love  Councillor  Such-a-one  and  Judge  Such- 
a-one:  it  is  so  with  physicians  (I  will  not  speak  of  my  own  trade),  soldiers, 
English,  Scotch,  French,  and  the  rest.  But  principally  I  hate  and  detest 
that  animal  called  man— although  I  heartily  love  John,  Peter,  Thomas,  and 
so  forth. 

" ....  I  have  got  materials  towards  a  treatise  proving  the  falsity  of 
that  definition  animal  rationale,  and  to  show  it  should  be  only  rationis  capax. 

The  matter  is  so  clear  that  it  will  admit  of  no  dispute— nay, 

I  will  hold  a  hundred  pounds  that  you  and  I  agree  in  the  point 

"  Mr.  Lewis  sent  me  an  account  of  Dr.  Arbuthnot's  illness,  which  is  a  very 
sensible  affliction  to  me,  who,  by  living  so  long  out  of  the  world,  have  lost 
that  hardness  of  heart  contracted  by  years  and  general  conversation.  I  am 
daily  losing  friends,  and  neither  seeking  nor  getting  others.  Oh!  if  the 
world  had  but  a  dozen  of  Arbuthnots  in  it,  I  would  burn  my  '  Travels ! ' " 

"  Mr.  Pope  to  Dr.  Swift. 

"October  15,  1725. 
"  I  am  wonderfully  pleased  with  the  suddenness  of  your  kind  answer.     It 
makes  me  hope  you  are  coming  towards  us,  and  that  you  incline  more  and 


296  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

thing  generous,  and  cheering,  and  ennobling.  You  are 
in  the  society  of  men  who  have  filled  the  greatest  parts 
in  the  world's  story— you  are  with  St.  John  the  states- 
man; Peterborough  the  conqueror;  Swift,  the  greatest 
wit  of  all  times;  Gay,  the  kindliest  laugher — it  is  a  priv- 
ilege to  sit  in  that  company.  Delightful  and  generous 
banquet!  with  a  little  faith  and  a  little  fancy  any  one 
of  us  here  may  enjoy  it,  and  conjure  up  those  great 
figures  out  of  the  past,  and  listen  to  their  wit  and  wis- 
dom. Mind  that  there  is  always  a  certain  cachet  about 
great  men— they  may  be  as  mean  on  many  points  as  you 
or  I,  but  they  carry  their  great  air — they  speak  of  com- 
mon life  more  largely  and  generously  than  common 
men  do— they  regard  the  world  with  a  manlier  counten- 
ance, and  see  its  real  features  more  fairly  than  the  timid 
shufflers  who  onty  dare  to  look  up  at  life  through  blink- 
more  to  your  old  friends Here  is  one  [Lord  Bolingbroke]  who 

was  once  a  powerful  planet,  but  has  now  (after  long  experience  of  all  that 
comes  of  shining)  learned  to  be  content  with  returning  to  his  first  point 
without  the  thought  or  ambition  of  shining  at  all.  Here  is  another  [Edward, 
Earl  of  Oxford],  who  thinks  one  of  the  greatest  glories  of  his  father  was  to 
have  distinguished  and  loved  you,  and  who  loves  you  hereditarily.  Here  is 
Arbuthnot,  recovered  from  the  jaws  of  death,  and  more  pleased  with  the 
hope  of  seeing  you  again  than  of  reviewing  a  world,  every  part  of  which  he 
has  long  despised  but  what  is  made  up  of  a  few  men  like  yourself 

"  Our  friend  Gay  is  used  as  the  friends  of  Tories  are  by  Whigs— and  gen- 
erally by  Tories  too.  Because  he  had  humour,  he  was  supposed  to  have 
dealt  with  Dr.  Swift,  in  like  manner  as  when  any  one  had  learning  formerly, 
he  was  thought  to  have  dealt  with  the  devil 

"  Lord  Bolingbroke  had  not  the  least  harm  by  his  fall ;  I  wish  he  had  re- 
ceived no  more  by  his  other  fall.  But  Lord  Bolingbroke  is  the  most  improved 
mind  since  you  saw  him,  that  ever  was  improved  without  shifting  into  a 
new  body,  or  being  pmillo  minus  ab  angelis.  I  have  often  imagined  to  my- 
self, that  if  ever  all  of  us  meet  again,  after  so  many  varieties  and  changes, 
after  so  much  of  the  old  world  and  of  the  old  man  in  each  of  us  has  been 
altered,  that  scarce  a  single  thought  of  the  one,  any  more  than  a  single  atom 
of  the  other,  remains  just  the  same;  I  have  fancied,  I  say,  that  we  should 
meet  like  the  righteous  in  the  millennium,  quite  in  peace,  divested  of  all  our 
former  passions,  smiling  at  our  past  follies,  and  content  to  enjoy  the  kingdom 
of  the  just  in  tranquillity. 

"  I  designed  to  have  left  the  following  page  for  Dr.  Arbuthnot  to  fill,  but 
he  is  so  touched  with  the  period  in  yours  to  me,  concerning  him,  that  he  in- 
tends to  answer  it  by  a  whole  letter.         *         *         *  " 


PRIOR,   GAY,   AND   POPE  297 

ers,  or  to  have  an  opinion  when  there  is  a  crowd  to  back 
it.  He  who  reads  these  noble  records  of  a  past  age, 
salutes  and  reverences  the  great  spirits  who  adorn  it. 
You  may  go  home  now  and  talk  with  St.  John;  you 
may  take  a  volume  from  your  library  and  listen  to  Swift 
and  Pope. 

Might  I  give  counsel  to  any  young  hearer,  I  would 
say  to  him.  Try  to  frequent  the  company  of  your  betters. 
In  books  and  life  that  is  the  most  wholesome  society; 
learn  to  admire  rightly;  the  great  pleasure  of  life  is 
that.  Note  what  the  great  men  admired;  they  admired 
great  things ;  narrow  spirits  admire  basely,  and  worship 
meanly.  I  know  nothing  in  any  story  more  gallant  and 
cheering  than  the  love  and  friendship  which  this  com- 
pany of  famous  men  bore  towards  one  another.  There 
never  has  been  a  society  of  men  more  friendly,  as  there 
never  was  one  more  illustrious.  Who  dares  quarrel  with 
Mr.  Pope,  great  and  famous  himself,  for  liking  the 
society  of  men  great  and  famous?  and  for  liking  them 
for  the  qualities  which  made  them  so?  A  mere  pretty 
fellow  from  White's  could  not  have  written  the  "  Patriot 
King,"  and  would  very  likely  have  despised  little  Mr. 
Pope,  the  decrepit  Papist,  whom  the  great  St.  John 
held  to  be  one  of  the  best  and  greatest  of  men:  a  mere 
nobleman  of  the  court  could  no  more  have  won  Barce- 
lona, than  he  could  have  written  Peterborough's  letters's 
to  Pope,^  which  are  as  witty  as  Congreve:  a  mere  Irish 
Dean    could   not    have    written    "Gulliver;"    and    all 

^Of  the  Earl  of  Peterborough,  Walpole  says: — "  He  was  one  of  those  men 
of  careless  wit  and  negligent  grace,  who  scatter  a  thousand  bon-mots  and 
idle  verses,  '"hich  we  painful  compilers  gather  and  hoard,  till  the  authors 
stare  to  find  themselves  authors.  Such  was  this  lord,  of  an  advantageous 
figure  and  enterprising  spirit;  as  gallant  as  Amadis  and  as  brave;  but  a  little 
more  expeditious  in  his  journeys:  for  he  is  said  to  have  seen  more  kings 
and  more  postilions  than  any  man  in  Europe.  ...  He  was  a  man,  as  his 
friend  said,  who  would  neither  live  nor  die  like  any  other  mortal." 


298  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

these  men  loved  Pope,  and  Pope  loved  all  these  men. 
To  name  his  friends  is  to  name  the  best  men  of 
his  time.  Addison  had  a  senate;  Pope  reverenced  his 
equals.  He  spoke  of  Swift  with  respect  and  admiration 
always.  His  admiration  for  Bolingbroke  was  so  great, 
that  when  some  one  said  of  his  friend,  "  There  is  some-  ' 
thing  in  that  great  man  which  looks  as  if  he  was  placed 
here  by  mistake,"  "  Yes,"  Pope  answered,  "  and  when 
the  comet  appeared  to  us  a  month  or  two  ago,  I  had 
sometimes  an  imagination  that  it  might  possibly  be 
come  to  carry  him  home,  as  a  coach  comes  to  one's  door 
for  visitors."  So  these  great  spirits  spoke  of  one  an- 
other. Show  me  six  of  the  dullest  middle-aged  gentle- 
men that  ever  dawdled  round  a  club  table,  so  faithful 
and  so  friendly. 

We  have  said  before  that  the  chief  wits  of  this  time, 
with  the  exception  of  Congreve,  were  what  we  should 
now  call  men's  men.  They  spent  many  hours  of  the 
four-and-twenty,  a  fourth  part  of  each  day  nearly,  in 

"  From  the  Eael  of  Peterborough  to  Pope. 

"You  must  receive  my  letters  with  a  just  impartiality,  and  give  grains 
of  allowance  for  a  gloomy  or  rainy  day;  I  sink  grievously  with  the  weather- 
glass, and  am  quite  spiritless  when  oppressed  with  the  thoughts  of  a  birth- 
day or  a  return. 

"Dutiful  affection  was  bringing  me  to  town;  but  undutiful  laziness,  and 
being  much  out  of  order,  keep  me  in  the  country:  however,  if  alive,  I  must 
make  my  appearance  at  the  birthday.     .     .     . 

"  You  seem  to  think  it  vexatious  that  I  shall  allow  you  but  one  woman  at 
a  time  either  to  praise  or  love.  If  I  dispute  with  you  upon  this  point,  I 
doubt  every  jury  will  give  a  verdict  against  me.  So,  sir,  with  a  Mahometan 
indulgence,  I  allow  you  pluralities,  the  favourite  privilege  of  our  church. 

"  I  find  you  don't  mend  upon  correction;  again  I  tell  you  you  must  not 
think  of  women  in  a  reasonable  way;  you  know  we  always  make  goddesses 
of  those  we  adore  upon  earth;  and  do  not  all  the  good  men  tell  us  we  must 
lay  aside  reason  in  what  relates  to  the  Deity? 

"...  I  should  have  been  glad  of  anything  of  Swift's.  Pray,  when 
you  write  to  him  next,  tell  him  I  expect  him  with  impatience,  in  a  place  as 
odd  and  as  much  out  of  the  way  as  himself.  Yours." 

Peterborough  married  Mrs.  Anastasia  Robinson,  the  celebrated  singer. 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE  299 

clubs  and  coiFee-houses,  where  they  dined,  drank,  and 
smoked.  Wit  and  news  went  by  word  of  mouth;  a 
journal  of  1710  contained  the  very  smallest  portion  of 
one  or  the  other.  The  chiefs  spoke,  the  faithful  habitues 
sat  round;  strangers  came  to  wonder  and  listen.  Old 
Dryden  had  his  head-quarters  at  "Will's,"  in  Russell 
Street,  at  the  corner  of  Bow  Street :  at  which  place  Pope 
saw  him  when  he  was  twelve  years  old.  The  company 
used  to  assemble  on  the  first  floor— what  was  called  the 
dining-room  floor  in  those  days— and  sat  at  various 
tables  smoking  their  pipes.  It  is  recorded  that  the 
beaux  of  the  day  thought  it  a  great  honour  to  be  allowed 
to  take  a  pinch  out  of  Dryden's  snufl'-box.  When  Ad- 
dison began  to  reign,  he  with  a  certain  crafty  propriety 
—a  policy  let  us  call  it— which  belonged  to  his  nature, 
set  up  his  court,  and  appointed  the  officers  of  his  royal 
house.  His  palace  was  "  Button's,"  opposite  "  Wifl's."  ^ 
A  quiet  opposition,  a  silent  assertion  of  empire,  dis- 
tinguished this  great  man.  Addison's  ministers  were 
Budgell,  Tickell,  PhilHps,  Carey;  his  master  of  the 
horse,  honest  Dick  Steele,  who  was  what  Duroc  was  to 
Napoleon,  or  Hardy  to  Nelson ;  the  man  who  performed 
his  master's  bidding,  and  would  have  cheerfully  died  in 
his  quarrel.  Addison  lived  with  these  people  for  seven 
or  eight  hours  every  day.    The  male  society  passed  over 

'"Button  had  been  a  servant  in  the  Countess  of  Warwick's  family,  who, 
under  the  patronage  of  Addison,  kept  a  coffee-house  on  the  south  side  of 
Russell  Street,  about  two  doors  from  Covent  Garden.  Here  it  was  that  the 
wits  of  that  time  used  to  assemble.  It  is  said  that  when  Addison  had  suf- 
fered any  vexation  from  the  Countess,  he  withdrew  the  company  from  But- 
ton's house. 

"  From  the  coffee-house  he  went  again  to  a  tavern,  where  he  often  sat  late 
and  drank  too  much  wine." — Dr.  Johxsox. 

Will's  coffee-house  was  on  the  west  side  of  Bow  Street,  and  "corner  of 
Russell  Street."    See  "  Handbook  of  London." 


300  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

tlieir  punch-bowls  and  tobacco-pipes  about  as  much 
time  as  ladies  of  that  age  spent  over  Spadille  and 
Manille. 

For  a  brief  space,  upon  coming  up  to  town,  Pope 
formed  part  of  King  Joseph's  court,  and  was  his  rather 
too  eager  and  obsequious  humble  servant.^  Dick  Steele, 
the  editor  of  the  Taller,  Mr.  Addison's  man,  and  his 
own  man  too— a  person  of  no  little  figure  in  the  world 
of  letters,  patronized  the  young  poet,  and  set  him  a 
task  or  two.  Young  Mr.  Pope  did  the  tasks  very 
quickly  and  smartly  (he  had  been  at  the  feet,  quite 
as   a  boy,   of  Wycherley's^   decrepit   reputation,   and 

'"My  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Addison  commenced  in  1712:  I  liked  him 
then  as  well  as  I  lilved  any  man,  and  was  very  fond  of  his  conversation.  It 
was  very  soon  after  that  Mr.  Addison  advised  me  '  not  to  be  content  with  the 
applause  of  half  the  nation.'  He  used  to  talk  much  and  often  to  me,  of 
moderation  in  parties:  and  used  to  blame  his  dear  friend  Steele  for  being 
too  much  of  a  party  man.  He  encouraged  me  in  my  design  of  translating  the 
'  Iliad,'  which  was  begun  that  year,  and  finished  in  1718."— Pope.  Spence's 
Anecdotes. 

"  Addison  had  Budgell,  and  I  think  Phillips,  in  the  house  with  him.— Gay 
they  would  call  one  of  my  Mh^es.— They  were  angry  with  me  for  keeping  so 
much  with  Dr.  Swift  and  some  of  the  late  Ministry."— Pope.  Spence's  An- 
ecdotes. 

"  "  To  Mu.  Blount. 

"Jan.  21,  1715-16. 

"  I  know  of  nothing  that  will  be  so  interesting  to  you  at  present  as  some 
circumstances  of  the  last  act  of  that  eminent  comic  poet  and  our  friend, 
Wycherley.  He  had  often  told  me,  and  I  doubt  not  he  did  all  his  ac- 
quaintance, that  he  would  marry  as  soon  as  his  life  was  despaired  of.  Ac- 
cordingly, a  few  days  before  his  death,  he  underwent  the  ceremony,  and 
joined  together  those  two  sacraments  which  wise  men  say  we  should  be  the 
last  to  receive;  for,  if  you  observe,  matrimony  is  placed  after  extreme 
unction  in  our  catechism,  as  a  kind  of  hint  of  the  order  of  time  in  which 
they  are  to  be  taken.  The  old  man  then  lay  down,  satisfied  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  having,  by  this  one  act,  obliged  a  woman  who  (he  was  told) 
had  merit,  and  shown  an  heroic  resentment  of  the  ill-usage  of  his  next  heir. 
Some  hundred  pounds  which  he  had  with  the  lady  discharged  his  debts; 
a  jointure  of  500/.  a  year  made  her  a  recompence;  and  the  nephew  was  left 
to  comfort  himself  as  well  as  he  could  with  the  miserable  remains  of  a  mort- 
gaged estate.  I  saw  our  friend  twice  after  this  was  done— less  peevish  in 
his  sickness  than  he  used  to  be  in  his  health;  neither  much  afraid  of  dying, 
nor  (which  in  him  had  been  more  likely)  much  ashamed  of  marrying.  The 
evening  before  he  expired,  he  called  "his  young  wife  to  the  bedside,  and 
earnestly  entreated  her  not  to  deny  him  one  request— the  last  he  should 
make.  Upon  her  assurances  of  consenting  to  it,  he  told  her:  'My  dear,  it  is 
only   this— that  you   will  never  marry  an   old   man   again.'      I   cannot   help 


PRIOR,   GAY,   AND   POPE  301 

propped  up  for  a  year  that  doting  old  wit)  :  he  was 
anxious  to  be  well  with  the  men  of  letters,  to  get  a  foot- 
ing and  a  recognition.  He  thought  it  an  honour  to  be 
admitted  into  their  company;  to  have  the  confidence  of 
Mr.  Addison's  friend.  Captain  Steele.  His  eminent 
parts  obtained  for  him  the  honour  of  heralding  Addi- 
son's triumph  of  "  Cato  "  with  his  admirable  prologue, 
and  heading  the  victorious  procession  as  it  were.  Not 
content  with  this  act  of  homage  and  admiration,  he 
wanted  to  distinguish  himself  by  assaulting  Addison's 
enemies,  and  attacked  John  Dennis  with  a  prose  lam- 
poon, which  highly  oifended  his  lofty  patron.  Mr. 
Steele  was  instructed  to  write  to  Mr.  Dennis,  and  inform 
him  that  ISIr.  Pope's  pamphlet  against  him  was  written 
quite  without  Mr.  Addison's  approval.^  Indeed,  "  The 
Narrative  of  Dr.  Robert  Norris  on  the  Phrenzy  of  J. 
D."  is  a  vulgar  and  mean  satire,  and  such  a  blow  as  the 
magnificent  Addison  could  never  desire  to  see  any  par- 
tisan of  his  strike  in  any  literary  quarrel.  Pope  was 
closely  allied  with  Swift  when  he  wrote  this  pamphlet. 
It  is  so  dirty  that  it  has  been  printed  in  Swift's  works, 
too.    It  bears  the  foul  marks  of  the  master  hand.    Swift 

remarking  that  sickness,  which  often  destroys  both  wit  and  wisdom,  yet 
seldom  has  power  to  remove  that  talent  which  we  call  humour.  Mr.  Wycher- 
ley  showed  his  even  in  his  last  compliment;  though  I  think  his  request  a  little 
hard,  for  why  should  he  bar  her  from  doubling  her  jointure  on  the  same 
easy  terms? 

"  So  trivial  as  these  circumstances  are,  I  should  not  be  displeased  myself 
to  know  such  trifles  when  they  concern  or  characterize  any  eminent  person. 
The  wisest  and  wittiest  of  men  are  seldom  wiser  or  wittier  than  others  in 
these  sober  moments;  at  least,  our  friend  ended  much  in  the  same  character 
he  had  lived  in;  and  Horace's  rule  for  play  may  as  well  be  applied  to  him 
as  a  playwright: — 

"  '  Servetur   ad   imum 
Qualis  ab  incepto  processerit  et  sibi  constet.' 

"  I  am,"  &c. 

* "  Addison,  who  was  no  stranger  to  the  world,  probably  saw  the  selfishness 
of  Pope's  friendship;  and  resolving  that  he  should  have  the  consequences  of 
his  officiousness  to  himself,  informed  Dennis  by  Steele  that  he  was  sorry  for 
the  insult."— Johnson:  Life  of  Addison. 


302  ENGLISH    HUMOURISTS 

admired  and  enjoyed  with  all  his  heart  the  prodigious 
genius  of  the  young  Papist  lad  out  of  Windsor  Forest, 
who  had  never  seen  a  university  in  his  life,  and  came 
and  conquered  the  Dons,  and  the  doctors  with  his  wit. 
He  applauded,  and  loved  him,  too,  and  protected  him, 
and  taught  him  mischief.  I  wish  Addison  could  have 
loved  him  better.  The  best  satire  that  ever  has  been 
penned  would  never  have  been  WTitten  then;  and  one 
of  the  best  characters  the  world  ever  knew  would  have 
been  without  a  flaw.  But  he  who  had  so  few  equals 
could  not  bear  one,  and  Poj^e  was  more  than  that. 
When  Pope,  trying  for  himself,  and  soaring  on  his  im- 
mortal young  wings,  found  that  his,  too,  was  a  genius, 
which  no  pinion  of  that  age  could  follow,  he  rose  and 
left  Addison's  company,  settling  on  his  own  eminence, 
and  singing  his  own  song. 

It  was  not  possible  that  Pope  should  remain  a  re- 
tainer of  Mr.  Addison;  nor  likely  that  after  escaping 
from  his  vassalage  and  assuming  an  independent  crown, 
the  sovereign  whose  allegiance  he  quitted  should  view 
him  amicably.^  They  did  not  do  wrong  to  mislike  each 
other.  They  but  followed  the  impulse  of  nature,  and 
the  consequence  of  position.  When  Bernadotte  became 
heir  to  a  throne,  the  Prince  Royal  of  Sweden  was  natu- 
rally Napoleon's  enemy.  "  There  are  many  passions 
and  tempers  of  mankind,"  says  Mr.  Addison  in  the 
Spectator  J  speaking  a  couple  of  years  before  their  little 

>  "  While  I  was  heated  with  what  1  heard,  I  wrote  a  letter  to  Mr.  Addison, 
to  let  him  know  'that  I  was  not  unacquainted  with  this  behaviour  of  his; 
that  if  I  was  to  speak  of  him  severely  in  return  for  it,  it  should  not  be  in 
such  a  dirty  way;  that  I  should  rather  tell  him  himself  fairly  of  his  faults, 
and  allow  liis  good  qualities;  and  that  it  should  be  something  in  the  following 
manner.'  I  then  subjoined  the  first  sketch  of  what  has  since  been  called  my 
satire  on  Addison.  He  used  me  very  civilly  ever  after;  and  ne%er  did  me  any 
injustice,  that  I  know  of,  from  that  time  to  his  death,  which  was  about  three 
years  after."— Pope.    Spence's  Anecdote*. 


PRIOR,   GAY,  AND   POPE  303 

differences  between  him  and  Mr.  Pope  took  place, 
"which  naturally  dispose  us  to  depress  and  vilify  the 
merit  of  one  rising  in  the  esteem  of  mankind.  All  those 
who  made  their  entrance  into  the  world  with  the  same 
advantages,  and  were  once  looked  on  as  his  equals,  are 
apt  to  think  the  fame  of  his  merits  a  reflection  on  their 
own  deserts.  Those  who  were  once  his  equals  envy  and 
defame  him,  because  they  now  see  him  the  superior; 
and  those  who  were  once  his  superiors,  because  they  look 
upon  him  as  their  equal."  Did  Mr.  Addison,  justly 
perhaps  thinking  that,  as  young  Mr.  Pope  had  not  had 
the  benefit  of  a  university  education,  he  couldn't  know 
Greek,  therefore  he  couldn't  translate  Homer,  encour- 
age his  young  friend  Mr.  Tickell,  of  Queen's,  to  trans- 
late that  poet,  and  aid  him  with  his  own  known  scholar- 
ship and  skill?  ^  It  was  natural  that  Mr.  Addison 
should  doubt  of  the  learning  of  an  amateur  Grecian, 
should  have  a  high  opinion  of  Mr.  Tickell,  of  Queen's, 
and  should  help  that  ingenious  young  man.  It  was 
natural,  on  the  other  hand,  that  Mr.  Pope  and  Mr. 
Pope's  friends  should  believe  that  this  counter-transla- 
tion, suddenly  advertised  and  so  long  written,  though 
Tickell's  college  friends  had  never  heard  of  it— though, 
when  Pope  first  wrote  to  Addison  regarding  his  scheme, 
Mr.  Addison  knew  nothing  of  the  similar  project  of 
Tickell,  of  Queen's — it  was  natural  that  Mr.  Pope  and 
his  friends,  having  interests,  passions,  and  prejudices  of 
their  own,  should  believe  that  Tickell's  translation  was 
but  an  act  of  opposition  against  Pope,  and  that  they 

* "  That  Tickell  should  have  been  guilty  of  a  villainy  seems  to  us  highly 
improbable;  that  Addison  should  have  been  guilty  of  a  villainy  seems  to  us 
highly  improbable;  but  that  these  two  men  should  have  conspired  together 
to  commit  a  villainy,  seems,  to  us,  improbable  in  a  tenfold  degree."— 
Macaulay. 


304  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

should  call  Mr.  Tickell's  emulation  Mr.  Addison's  emy 
—if  envy  it  were. 

"  And  were  there  one  whose  fires 
True  genius  kindles  and  fair  fame  inspires, 
Blest  with  each  talent  and  each  heart  to  please, 
And  born  to  write,  converse,  and  live  with  ease; 
Should  such  a  man,  too  fond  to  rule  alone. 
Bear  like  the  Turk  no  brother  near  the  throne ; 
View  him  with  scornful  yet  with  jealous  eyes. 
And  hate,  for  arts  that  caused  himself  to  rise ; 
Damn  with  faint  praise,  assent  with  civil  leer, 
And  without  sneering,  teach  the  rest  to  sneer; 
Willing  to  Avound,  and  yet  afraid  to  strike, 
Just  hint  a  fault,  and  hesitate  dislike ; 
Alike  reserved  to  blame  as  to  commend, 
A  timorous  foe  and  a  suspicious  friend ; 
Dreading  even  fools,  by  flatterers  besieged. 
And  so  obliging  that  he  ne'er  obliged : 
Like  Cato  give  his  little  senate  laws. 
And  sit  attentive  to  his  own  applause; 
While  wits  and  templars  every  sentence  raise, 
And  wonder  with  a  foolish  face  of  praise; 
Who  but  must  laugh  if  such  a  man  there  be. 
Who  would  not  weep  if  Atticus  were  he?  " 

"  I  sent  the  verses  to  Mr.  Addison,"  said  Pope,  "  and 
he  used  me  very  civilly  ever  after."  No  wonder  he  did. 
It  was  shame  very  likely  more  than  fear  that  silenced 
him.  Johnson  recounts  an  interview  between  Pope  and 
Addison  after  their  quarrel,  in  which  Pope  was  angry, 
and  Addison  tried  to  be  contemptuous  and  calm.  Such 
a  weapon  as  Pope's  must  have  pierced  any  scorn.  It 
flashes  for  ever,  and  quivers  in  Addison's  memory.  His 
great  figure  looks  out  on  us  from  the  past— stainless 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE  305 

but  for  that— pale,  calm,  and  beautiful:  it  bleeds 
from  that  black  wound.  He  should  be  drawn,  like  St. 
Sebastian,  with  that  arrow  in  his  side.  As  he  sent 
to  Gay  and  asked  his  pardon,  as  he  bade  his  stepson 
come  and  see  his  death,  be  sure  he  had  forgiven 
Pope,  when  he  made  ready  to  show  how  a  Christian 
could  die. 

Pope  then  formed  part  of  the  Addisonian  court  for  a 
short  time,  and  describes  himself  in  his  letters  as  sitting 
with  that  coterie  until  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  over 
punch  and  burgundy  amidst  the  fumes  of  tobacco.  To 
use  an  expression  of  the  present  day,  the  "pace"  of 
those  viveurs  of  the  former  age  was  awful.  Peter- 
borough lived  into  the  very  jaws  of  death;  Godolphin 
laboured  all  day  and  gambled  at  night;  Bolingbroke,^ 
writing  to  Swift,  from  Dawley,  in  his  retirement,  dating 
his  letter  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  rising,  as  he 
says,  refreshed,  serene,  and  calm,  calls  to  mind  the  time 
of  his  London  life;  when  about  that  hour  he  used  to  be 
going  to  bed,  surfeited  with  pleasure,  and  jaded  with 
business;  his  head  often  full  of  schemes,  and  his  heart 
as  often  full  of  anxiety.  It  was  too  hard,  too  coarse  a 
life  for  the  sensitive,  sickly  Pope.    He  was  the  only  wit 

^ "  Lord  Bolingbroke  to  the  Three  Yahoos  of  Twickenham. 

"  July  23,  1726. 

"  Jonathan,  Alexander,  John,  most  excellent  Triumvirs  op  Par- 
nassus,— 

"  Though  you  are  probably  very  indiflFerent  where  I  am,  or  what  I  am 
doing,  yet  I  resolve  to  believe  the  contrary.  I  persuade  myself  that  you 
have  sent  at  least  fifteen  times  within  this  fortnight  to  Dawley  farm,  and 
that  you  are  extremely  mortified  at  my  long  silence.  To  relieve  you,  there- 
fore, from  this  great  anxiety  of  mind,  I  can  do  no  less  than  write  a  few 
lines  to  you;  and  I  please  myself  beforehand  with  the  vast  pleasure  which 
this  epistle  must  needs  give  you.  That  I  may  add  to  this  pleasure,  and  give 
further  proofs  of  my  beneficent  temper,  I  will  likewise  inform  you,  that  I 
shall  be  in  your  neighbourhood  again,  by  the  end  of  next  week:  by  which 
time  I  hope  that  Jonathan's  imagination  of  business  will  be  succeeded  by 
some  imagination  more  becoming  a  professor  of  that  divine  science,  la 
bagatelle.     Adieu.     Jonathan,  Alexander,  John,  mirth  be  with  you ! " 


306  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

of  the  day,  a  friend  writes  to  me,  who  wasn't  fat/ 
Swift  was  fat;  Addison  was  fat;  Steele  was  fat;  Gay 
and  Thomson  were  preposterously  fat— all  that  fud- 
dling and  punch-drinking,  that  club  and  coffee-house 
boozing,  shortened  the  lives  and  enlarged  the  waistcoats 
of  the  men  of  that  age.  Pope  withdrew  in  a  great 
measure  from  this  boisterous  London  companj'^,  and 
being  put  into  an  independence  by  the  gallant  exertions 
of  Swift  ^  and  his  private  friends,  and  by  the  enthusi- 
astic national  admiration  which  justly  rewarded  his 
great  achievement  of  the  "Iliad,"  purchased  that  fa- 
mous villa  of  Twickenham  which  his  song  and  life  cele- 
brated; duteously  bringing  his  old  parent  to  live  and 
die  there,  entertaining  his  friends  there,  and  making 
occasional  visits  to  London  in  his  httle  chariot,  in 
which  Atterbury  compared  him  to  "  Homer  in  a  nut- 
shell." 

"  Mr.  Dry  den  was  not  a  genteel  man,"  Pope  quaintly 
said  to  Spence,  speaking  of  the  manner  and  habits  of 
the  famous  old  patriarch  of  "  Will's."  With  regard  to 
Pope's  own  manners,  we  have  the  best  contemporary 
authority  that  they  were  singularly  refined  and  polished. 
With  his  extraordinary  sensibility,  with  his  known 
tastes,  with  his  delicate  frame,  with  his  power  and  dread 
of  ridicule.  Pope  could  have  been  no  other  than  what 
we  call  a  highly-bred  person.^  His  closest  friends,  with 
the  exception  of  Swift,  were  among  the  delights  and 

^  Prior  must  be  excepted  from  this  observation.  "  He  was  lank  and  lean." 
^  Swift  exerted  himself  very  much  in  promoting  the  "Iliad"  subscription; 
and  also  introduced  Pope  to  Harley  and  Boiingbroke.  — Pope  realized  by  the 
"  Iliad "  upwards  of  5,000/.,  which  he  laid  out  partly  in  annuities,  and 
partly  in  the  purchase  of  his  famous  villa.  Johnson  remarks  that  "  it  would 
be  hard  to  find  a  man  so  well  entitled  to  notice  by  his  wit,  that  ever  delighted 
so  much  in  talking  of  his  money." 

*  "  His  (Pope's)  voice  in  conunon  conversation  was  so  naturally  musical, 
that  I  remember  honest  Tom  Southerne  used  always  to  call  him  '  the  little 
nightingale.' "— Orueuv. 


PRIOR,   GAY,   AND   POPE  307 

ornaments  of  the  polished  society  of  their  age.  Garth, ^ 
the  accompHshed  and  benevolent,  whom  Steele  has  de- 
scribed so  charmingly,  of  whom  Codrington  said  that 
his  character  was  "all  beauty,"  and  whom  Pope  him- 
self called  the  best  of  Christians  without  knowing  it; 
Arbuthnot,^  one  of  the  wisest,  wittiest,   most  accom- 

*  Garth,  whom  Dryden  calls  "  generous  as  his  Muse,"  was  a  Yorkshireman. 
He  graduated  at  Cambridge,  and  was  made  M.D.  in  1691.  He  soon  dis- 
tinguished himself  in  his  profession,  by  his  poem  of  the  "  Dispensary,"  and 
in  society,  and  pronounced  Dryden's  funeral  oration.  He  was  a  strict 
Whig,  a  notable  member  of  the  "  Kit-Cat,"  and  a  friendly,  convivial,  able 
man.  He  was  knighted  by  George  I.,  with  the  Duke  of  Marlborough's  sword. 
He  died  in  1718. 

* "  Arbuthnot  was  the  son  of  an  episcopal  clergyman  in  Scotland,  and  be- 
longed to  an  ancient  and  distinguished  Scotch  family.  He  was  educated  at 
Aberdeen;  and,  coming  up  to  London— according  to  a  Scotch  practice  often 
enough  alluded  to— to  make  his  fortune— first  made  himself  known  by  '  An 
Examination  of  Dr.  Woodward's  Account  of  the  Deluge.'  He  became  phy- 
sician successively  to  Prince  George  of  Denmark  and  to  Queen  Anne.  He  is 
usually  allowed  to  have  been  the  most  learned,  as  well  as  one  of  the  most 
witty  and  humourous  members  of  the  Scriblerus  Club.  The  opinion  enter- 
tained of  him  by  the  humourists  of  the  day  is  abundantly  evidenced  in  their 
correspondence.  When  he  found  himself  in  his  last  illness,  he  wrote  thus, 
from  his  retreat  at  Hampstead,  to  Swift: — 

"'My  Dear  and  Worthy  Friend,-  Hampstead,  Oct.  4,  1734. 

" '  You  have  no  reason  to  put  me  among  the  rest  of  your  forgetful 
friends,  for  I  wrote  two  long  letters  to  you,  to  which  I  never  received  one 
word  of  answer.  The  first  was  about  your  health;  the  last  I  sent  a  great 
while  ago,  by  one  De  la  Mar.  I  can  assure  you  with  great  truth  that  none 
of  your  friends  or  acquaintance  has  a  more  warm  heart  towards  you  than 
myself.  I  am  going  out  of  this  troublesome  world,  and  you,  among  the  rest 
of  my  friends,  shall  have  my  last  prayers  and  good  wishes. 

" ' .  .  .  I  came  out  to  this  place  so  reduced  by  a  dropsy  and  an  asthma, 
that  I  could  neither  sleep,  breathe,  eat,  nor  move.  I  most  earnestly  desired 
and  begged  of  God  that  he  would  take  me.  Contrary  to  my  expectation, 
upon  venturing  to  ride  (which  I  had  forborne  for  some  years"),  I  recovered 
my  strength  to  a  pretty  considerable  degree,  slept,  and  had  my  stomach 
again.  .  .  .  What  I  did,  I  can  assure  you  was  not  for  life,  but  ease;  for 
I  am  at  present  in  the  case  of  a  man  that  was  almost  in  harbour,  and  then 
blown  back  to  sea— who  has  a  reasonable  hope  of  going  to  a  good  place,  and 
an  absolute  certainty  of  leaving  a  very  bad  one.  Not  that  I  have  any  par- 
ticular disgust  at  the  world;  for  I  have  as  great  comfort  in  my  own  family 
and  from  the  kindness  of  my  friends  as  any  man ;  but  the  world,  in  the  main, 
displeases  me,  and  I  have  too  true  a  presentiment  of  calamities  that  are 
to  befall  my  country.  However,  if  I  should  have  the  happiness  to  see  you 
before  I  die,  you  will  find  that  I  enjoy  the  comforts  of  life  with  my  usual 
cheerfulness.  I  cannot  imagine  why  you  are  frightened  from  a  journey  to 
England:  the  reasons  you  assign  are  "not  sufficient- the  journey  I  am  sure 
would  do  you  good.  In  general,  I  recommend  riding,  of  which  I  have  always 
had  a  good  opinion,  and  can  now  confirm  it  from  my  own  experience. 

" '  My  family  give  you  their  love  and  service.     The  great  loss  I  sustained 


308  ENGLISH    HUMOURISTS 

plished,  gentlest  of  mankind;  Bolingbroke,  the  Alcibi- 
ades  of  his  age ;  the  generous  Oxford ;  the  magnificent, 
the  witty,  the  famous,  and  chivalrous  Peterborough :  these 
were  the  fast  and  faithful  friends  of  Pope,  the  most 
brilliant  company  of  friends,  let  us  repeat,  that  the  world 
has  ever  seen.  The  favourite  recreation  of  his  leisure 
hours  was  the  society  of  painters,  whose  art  he  prac- 
tised. In  his  correspondence  are  letters  between  him 
and  Jervas,  whose  pupil  he  loved  to  be — Richardson,  a 
celebrated  artist  of  his  time,  and  who  painted  for  him 
a  portrait  of  his  old  mother,  and  for  whose  picture  he 
asked  and  thanked  Richardson  in  one  of  the  most  de- 
lightful letters  that  ever  was  penned,^— and  the  wonder- 
in  one  of  them  gave  me  ray  first  shock,  and  the  trouble  I  have  with  the  rest 
to  bring  them  to  a  right  temper  to  bear  the  loss  of  a  father  who  loves  them, 
and  whom  they  love,  is  really  a  most  sensible  affliction  to  me.  I  am  afraid, 
my  dear  friend,  we  shall  never  see  one  another  more  in  this  world.  I  shall, 
to  the  last  moment,  preserve  my  love  and  esteem  for  you,  being  well  as- 
sured you  will  never  leave  the  paths  of  virtue  and  honour;  for  all  that  is  in 
this  world  is  not  worth  the  least  deviation  from  the  way.  It  will  be  great 
pleasure  to  me  to  hear  from  you  sometimes;  for  none  are  with  more  sin- 
cerity than  I  am,  my  dear  friend,  your  most  faithful  friend  and  humble 
servant.' " 

"  Arbuthnot,"  Johnson  says,  "  was  a  man  of  great  comprehension,  skilful 
in  his  profession,  versed  in  the  sciences,  acquainted  with  ancient  literature, 
and  able  to  animate  his  mass  of  knowledge  by  a  bright  and  active  imagina- 
tion; a  scholar  with  great  brilliance  of  wit;  a  wit  who,  in  the  crowd  of  life, 
retained  and  discovered  a  noble  ardour  of  religious  zeal." 

Dugald  Stewart  has  testified  to  Arbuthnot's  ability  in  a  department  of 
which  he  was  particularly  qualified  to  judge:  "Let  me  add,  that,  in  the  list 
of  philosophical  reformers,  the  authors  of  '  Martinus  Scriblerus '  ought  not 
to  be  overlooked.  Their  happy  ridicule  of  the  scholastic  logic  and  meta- 
physics is  universally  known;  but  few  are  aware  of  the  acutcness  and  sa- 
gacity displayed  in  their  allusions  to  some  of  the  most  vulnerable  passages 
in  Ix)cke's  '  Essay.'  In  this  part  of  the  work  it  is  commonly  understood  that 
Arbuthnot  had  the  principal  share."— See  Preliminary  Dissertation  to  En- 
cyclopedia Britannica,  note  to  p.  242,  and  also  note  b.  b.  b.,  p.  285. 

'  "  To  Mr.  Richardsok. 

"  Twickenham,  June  10,  1733. 
"  As  I  know  you  and  I  mutually  desire  to  see  one  another,  I  hope  that 
this  day  our  wishes  would  have  met,  and  brought  you  hither.  And  this  for 
the  very  reason,  which  possibly  might  hinder  you  coming,  that  my  poor 
mother  is  dead.  I  thank  God,  her  death  was  as  easy  as  her  life  was  innocent; 
and  as  it  cost  her  not  a  groan,  or  even  a  sigh,  there  is  yet  upon  her  coun- 
tenance such  an  expression  of  tranquiiiity,  nay,  almost  of  pleasure,  that  it 
is  even  amialilc  to  behold  it.     It  would  afford  the  finest  image  of  a  saint 


PRIOR,   GAY,   AND   POPE  309 

ful  Kneller,  who  bragged  more,  spelt  worse,  and  painted 
better  than  any  artist  of  his  day/ 

It  is  affecting  to  note,  through  Pope's  Correspon- 
dence, the  marked  way  in  which  his  friends,  the  greatest, 
the  most  famous,  and  wittiest  men  of  the  time— gen- 
erals and  statesmen,  philosophers  and  divines— all  have 
a  kind  word  and  a  kind  thought  for  the  good  simple  old 
mother,  whom  Pope  tended  so  affectionately.  Those 
men  would  have  scarcely  valued  her,  but  that  they  knew 
how  much  he  loved  her,  and  that  they  pleased  him  by 
thinking  of  her.  If  his  early  letters  to  women  are  af- 
fected and  insincere,  whenever  he  speaks  about  this  one, 
it  is  with  a  childish  tenderness  and  an  almost  sacred 
simplicity.  In  1713,  when  young  :Mr.  Pope  had,  by  a 
series  of  the  most  astonishing  victories  and  dazzling 
achievements,  seized  the  crown  of  poetry,  and  the  town 
was  in  an  uproar  of  admiration,  or  hostility,  for  the 
young  chief ;  when  Pope  was  issuing  his  famous  decrees 
for  the  translation  of  the  "Iliad;"  when  Dennis  and 
the  lower  critics  were  hooting  and  assailing  him;  when 
Addison  and  the  gentlemen  of  his  court  were  sneering 
with  sickening  hearts  at  the  prodigious  triumphs  of  the 
young  conqueror ;  when  Pope,  in  a  fever  of  victory,  and 
genius,  and  hope,  and  anger,  was  struggling  through 

expired  that  ever  painting  drew;  and  it  would  be  tlie  greatest  obligation 
which  even  that  obliging  art  could  ever  bestow  on  a  friend,  if  you  could 
come  and  sketch  it  for  me.  I  am  sure,  if  there  be  no  very  prevalent  ob- 
stacle, you  will  leave  any  common  business  to  do  this ;  and  I  hope  to  see  you 
this  evening,  as  late  as  you  will,  or  to-morrow  morning  as  early,  before  this 
winter  flower  is  faded.  I  will  defer  her  interment  till  to-morrow  night.  I 
know  you  love  me,  or  I  could  not  have  written  this— I  could  not  (at  this 
time)  have  written  at  all.    Adieu !    May  you  die  as  happily ! 

"  Yours  "  &c. 
'"Mr.  Pope  was  with  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller  one  day,  when  his  nephew,  a 
Guinea  trader,  came  in.  '  Nephew,'  said  Sir  Godfrey,  '  you  have  the  honour 
of  seeing  the  two  greatest  men  in  the  world.'—'  1  don't  know  how  great  you 
may  be,'  said  the  Guinea  man,  'but  I  don't  like  your  looks:  I  have  often 
bought  a  man  much  better  than  both  of  you  together,  all  muscles  and  bones, 
for  ten  guineas.' "— Dk.  Wauburtox,     Spence's  Anecdotes. 


310  ENGLISH    HUMOURISTS 

the  crowd  of  shouting  friends  and  furious  detractors  to 
his  temple  of  Fame,  his  old  mother  writes  from  the 
country,  "  My  deare,"  says  she—"  IMy  deare,  there's  Mr. 
Blount,  of  Mapel  Durom,  dead  the  same  day  that  ISIr. 
Inglefield  died.  Your  sister  is  well;  but  your  brother 
is  sick.  My  service  to  Mrs.  Blount,  and  all  that  ask  of 
mco  I  hope  to  hear  from  you,  and  that  you  are  well, 
which  is  my  daily  prayer;  and  this  with  my  blessing." 
The  triumph  marches  by,  and  the  car  of  the  young 
conqueror,  the  hero  of  a  hundred  brilliant  victories:  the 
fond  mother  sits  in  the  quiet  cottage  at  home  and  says, 
"  I  send  you  my  daily  prayers,  and  I  bless  you,  my 
deare." 

In  our  estimate  of  Pope's  character,  let  us  always 
take  into  account  that  constant  tenderness  and  fidelity 
of  affection  which  pervaded  and  sanctified  his  life,  and 
never  forget  that  maternal  benediction.^  It  accom- 
panied him  always:  his  life  seems  purified  by  those  art- 
less and  heartfelt  prayers.  And  he  seems  to  have  re- 
ceived and  deserved  the  fond  attachment  of  the  other 
members  of  his  family.  It  is  not  a  little  touching  to 
read  in  Spence  of  the  enthusiastic  admiration  with 
which  his  half-sister  regarded  him,  and  the  simple  anec- 
dote by  which  she  illustrates  her  love.  "  I  think  no  man 
was  ever  so  little  fond  of  money."  Mrs.  Rackett  says 
about  her  brother,  "  I  think  my  brother  when  he  was 
young  read  more  books  than  any  man  in  the  world ; " 
and  she  falls  to  telling  stories  of  his  school-days,  and 
the  manner  in  which  his  master  at  Twyf ord  ill-used  him. 

*  Swift's  mention  of  him  as  one 

" whose  filial  piety  excels 

Whatever  Grecian  story  tells," 
is  well  known.     And  a  sneer  of  Walpole's  may  be  put  to  a  better  use  than  he 
ever  intended  it  for,  apropos  of  this  subject.  — He  charitably  sneers,  in  one 
of  his  letters,  at  Spence's  "  fondling  an  old  mother  — in  imitation  of  Pope!" 


PRIOR,   GAY,  AND   POPE  311 

"  I  don't  think  my  brother  knew  what  fear  was,"  she 
continues;  and  the  accounts  of  Pope's  friends  bear  out 
this  character  for  courage.  When  he  had  exasperated 
the  dunces,  and  threats  of  violence  and  personal  assault 
were  brought  to  him,  the  dauntless  little  champion  never 
for  one  instant  allowed  fear  to  disturb  him,  or  conde- 
scended to  take  anj^  guard  in  his  daily  walks,  except 
occasionally  his  faithful  dog  to  bear  him  company.  "  I 
had  rather  die  at  once,"  said  the  gallant  little  cripple, 
"  than  live  in  fear  of  those  rascals." 

As  for  his  death,  it  was  what  the  noble  Arbuthnot 
asked  and  enjoyed  for  himself — a  euthanasia — a  beau- 
tiful end.  A  perfect  benevolence,  affection,  serenity, 
hallowed  the  departure  of  that  high  soul.  Even  in  the 
very  hallucinations  of  his  brain,  and  weaknesses  of  his 
delirium,  there  was  something  almost  sacred.  Spence 
describes  him  in  his  last  days,  looking  up  and  with  a  rapt 
gaze  as  if  something  had  suddenly  passed  before  him. 
"He  said  to  me,  'What's  that?'  pointing  into  the  air 
with  a  very  steady  regard,  and  then  looked  down  and 
said,  with  a  smile  of  the  greatest  softness,  '  'Twas  a 
vision ! '  "  He  laughed  scarcely  ever,  but  his  companions 
describe  his  countenance  as  often  illuminated  by  a  pecu- 
liar sweet  smile. 

"  When,"  said  Spence,^  the  kind  anecdotist  whom 
Johnson  despised — "When  I  was  telling  Lord  Boling- 
broke  that  Mr.  Pope,  on  every  catching  and  recovery  of 
his  mind,  was  always  saying  something  kindly  of  his 

^  Joseph  Spence  was  the  son  of  a  clergyman,  near  Winchester.  He  was 
a  short  time  at  Eton,  and  afterwards  became  a  Fellow  of  New  College,  Ox- 
ford, a  clergj'man,  and  professor  of  poetry.  He  was  a  friend  of  Thomson's, 
whose  reputation  he  aided.  He  published  an  "  Essay  on  the  Odyssey "  in 
1726,  which  introduced  him  to  Pope.  Everybody  lilted  him.  His  "Anec- 
dotes "  were  placed,  while  still  in  MS.,  at  the  service  of  Johnson  and  also 
of  Malone.    They  were  published  by  Mr.  Singer  in  1S20. 


312  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

present  or  absent  friends;  and  that  this  was  so  surpris- 
ing, as  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  humanity  had  outlasted  un- 
derstanding, Lord  Bolingbroke  said,  '  It  has  so,'  and 
then  added,  '  I  never  in  my  life  knew  a  man  who  had 
so  tender  a  heart  for  his  particular  friends,  or  a  more 
general  friendship  for  mankind.  I  have  known  him  these 
thirty  years,  and  value  myself  more  for  that  man's  love 
than—'  Here,"  Spence  says,  "  St.  John  sunk  his 
head,  and  lost  his  voice  in  tears."  The  sob  which  finishes 
the  epitaph  is  finer  than  words.  It  is  the  cloak  thrown 
over  the  father's  face  in  the  famous  Greek  picture,  which 
hides  the  grief  and  heightens  it. 

In  Johnson's  "  Life  of  Pope  "  you  will  find  described, 
with  rather  a  malicious  minuteness,  some  of  the  personal 
habits  and  infirmities  of  the  great  little  Pope.  His  body 
was  crooked,  he  was  so  short  that  it  was  necessary  to 
raise  his  chair  in  order  to  place  him  on  a  level  with  other 
people  at  table.  ^  He  was  sewed  up  in  a  buckram  suit 
every  morning  and  required  a  nurse  like  a  child.  His 
contemporaries  reviled  these  misfortunes  with  a  strange 
acrimony,  and  made  his  poor  deformed  person  the  butt 
for  many  a  bolt  of  heavy  wit.  The  facetious  Mr.  Den- 
nis, in  speaking  of  him,  says,  "  If  you  take  the  first  letter 
of  Mr.  Alexander  Pope's  Christian  name,  and  the  first 
and  last  letters  of  his  surname,  you  have  A.  P.  E." 
Pope  catalogues,  at  the  end  of  the  Dunciad,  with  a  rue- 
ful precision,  other  pretty  names,  besides  Ape,  which 

'  He  speaks  of  Arbuthnot's  having  helped  him  through  "  that  long  disease, 
my  life."  But  not  only  was  he  so  feeble  as  is  implied  in  his  use  of  the 
"  buckram,"  but  "  it  now  appears,"  says  Mr.  Peter  Cunningham,  "  from  his 
unpublished  letters,  that,  like  Lord  Hervey,  he  had  recourse  to  ass's-milk 
for  the  preservation  of  his  health."  It  is  to"  his  lordship's  use  of  that  simple 
beverage  that  he  alludes  when  he  says— 

"Let  Sporus  tremble!— A.     What,  that  thing  of  silk, 
Sporus,  that  mere  white-curd  of  ass's  milk?" 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND   POPE  313 

Dennis  called  him.  That  great  critic  pronounced  Mr. 
Pope  was  a  little  ass,  a  fool,  a  coward,  a  Papist,  and 
therefore  a  hater  of  Scripture,  and  so  forth.  It  must 
be  remembered  that  the  pillory  was  a  flourishing  and 
popular  institution  in  those  days.  Authors  stood  in  it  in 
the  body  sometimes:  and  dragged  their  enemies  thither 
morally,  hooted  them  with  foul  abuse,  and  assailed  them 
with  garbage  of  the  gutter.  Poor  Pope's  figure  was  an 
easy  one  for  those  clumsy  caricaturists  to  draw.  Any 
stupid  hand  could  draw  a  hunchback,  and  write  Pope 
underneath.  They  did.  A  libel  was  published  against 
Pope,  with  such  a  frontispiece.  This  kind  of  rude 
jesting  was  an  evidence  not  only  of  an  ill  nature, 
but  a  dull  one.  When  a  child  makes  a  pun,  or  a  lout 
breaks  out  into  a  laugh,  it  is  some  very  obvious  combi- 
nation of  words,  or  discrepancy  of  objects,  which 
provokes  the  infantine  satirist,  or  tickles  the  boorish 
wag;  and  many  of  Pope's  revilers  laughed,  not  so 
much  because  they  were  wicked,  as  because  they  knew 
no  better. 

Without  the  utmost  sensibility.  Pope  could  not  have 
been  the  poet  he  was;  and  through  his  Hfe,  however 
much  he  protested  that  he  disregarded  their  abuse,  the 
coarse  ridicule  of  his  opponents  stung  and  tore  him.  One 
of  Gibber's  pamphlets  coming  into  Pope's  hands,  whilst 
Richardson  the  painter  was  with  him.  Pope  turned  round 
and  said,  "  These  things  are  my  diversions; "  and  Rich- 
ardson, sitting  by  whilst  Pope  perused  the  libel,  said  he 
saw  his  features  *'  writhing  with  anguish."  How  little 
human  nature  changes !  Can't  one  see  that  little  figure  ? 
Can't  one  fancy  one  is  reading  Horace?  Can't  one 
fancy  one  is  speaking  of  to-day? 

The  tastes  and  sensibilities  of  Pope,  which  led  him  to 


314  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

cultivate  the  society  of  persons  of  fine  manners,  or  wit, 
or  taste,  or  beauty,  caused  him  to  shrink  equally  from 
that  shabby  and  boisterous  crew  which  formed  the  rank 
and  file  of  literature  in  his  time:  and  he  was  as  unjust  to 
these  men  as  they  to  him.  The  delicate  httle  creature 
sickened  at  habits  and  company  which  were  quite  tol- 
erable to  robuster  men :  and  in  the  famous  feud  between 
Pope  and  the  Dunces,  and  without  attributing  any  pe- 
culiar wrong  to  either,  one  can  quite  understand  how 
the  two  parties  should  so  hate  each  other.  As  I  fancy, 
it  was  a  sort  of  necessity  that  when  Pope's  triumph 
passed,  Mr.  Addison  and  his  men  should  look  rather  con- 
temptuously down  on  it  from  their  balcony;  so  it  was 
natural  for  Dennis  and  Tibbald,  and  Welsted  and  Gib- 
ber, and  the  worn  and  hungry  pressmen  in  the  crowd 
below,  to  howl  at  him  and  assail  him.  And  Pope  was 
more  savage  to  Grub  Street  than  Grub  Street  was  to 
Pope.  The  thong  with  which  he  lashed  them  was  dread- 
ful ;  he  fired  upon  that  howling  crew  such  shafts  of  flame 
and  poison,  he  slew  and  wounded  so  fiercely,  that  in  read- 
ing the  "  Dunciad  "  and  the  prose  lampoons  of  Pope,  one 
feels  disposed  to  side  against  the  ruthless  little  tyrant,  at 
least  to  pity  those  wretched  folks  upon  whom  he  was  so 
unmerciful.  It  was  Pope,  and  Swift  to  aid  him,  who 
established  among  us  the  Grub  Street  tradition.  He 
revels  in  base  descriptions  of  poor  men's  want ;  he  gloats 
over  poor  Dennis's  garret,  and  flannel-night-cap,  and 
red  stockings;  he  gives  instructions  how  to  find  Curll's 
authors,  the  historian  at  the  tallow-chandler's  under  the 
blind  arch  in  Petty  France,  the  two  translators  in  bed 
together,  the  poet  in  the  cock-loft  in  Budge  Row,  whose 
landlady  keeps  the  ladder.  It  was  Pope,  I  fear,  who 
contributed,  more  than  any  man  who  ever  lived,  to  de- 


PRIOR,   GAY,  AND   POPE  315 

predate  the  literary  calling.  It  was  not  an  unprosperous 
one  before  that  time,  as  we  have  seen ;  at  least  there  were 
great  prizes  in  the  profession  which  had  made  Addison 
a  Minister,  and  Prior  an  Ambassador,  and  Steele  a  Com- 
missioner, and  Swift  all  but  a  Bishop.  The  profession 
of  letters  was  ruined  by  that  libel  of  the  "  Dunciad."  If 
authors  were  wretched  and  poor  before,  if  some  of  them 
lived  in  haylofts,  of  which  their  landladies  kept  the  lad- 
ders, at  least  nobody  came  to  disturb  them  in  their  straw ; 
if  three  of  them  had  but  one  coat  between  them,  the  two 
remained  invisible  in  the  garret,  the  third,  at  any  rate, 
appeared  decently  at  the  coffee-house  and  paid  his  two- 
pence like  a  gentleman.  It  was  Pope  that  dragged  into 
light  all  this  poverty  and  meanness,  and  held  up  those 
wretched  shifts  and  rags  to  public  ridicule.  It  was  Pope 
that  has  made  generations  of  the  reading  world  (de- 
lighted with  the  mischief,  as  who  would  not  be  that  reads 
it?)  beheve  that  author  and  wretch,  author  and  rags, 
author  and  dirt,  author  and  drink,  gin,  cow-heel,  tripe, 
poverty,  duns,  bailiffs,  squalling  children  and  clamorous 
landladies,  were  always  associated  together.  The  condi- 
tion of  authorship  began  to  fall  from  the  days  of  the 
"  Dunciad :  "  and  I  believe  in  my  heart  that  much  of  that 
obloquy  which  has  since  pursued  our  calling  was  occa- 
sioned by  Pope's  libels  and  wicked  wit.  Everybody  read 
those.  Everybody  was  familiarised  with  the  idea  of  the 
poor  devil,  the  author.  The  manner  is  so  captivating 
that  young  authors  practise  it,  and  begin  their  career 
with  satire.  It  is  so  easy  to  write,  and  so  pleasant  to 
read!  to  fire  a  shot  that  makes  a  giant  wince,  perhaps; 
and  fancy  one's  self  his  conqueror.  It  is  easy  to  shoot— 
but  not  as  Pope  did.  The  shafts  of  his  satire  rise  sub- 
limely: no  poet's  verse  ever  mounted  higher  than  that 


316  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

wonderful    flight    with    which    the    "Dunciad"    con- 
cludes:—^ 

"  She  comes,  she  comes !  the  sable  throne  behold 
Of  Night  primeval  and  of  Chaos  old; 
Before  her,  Fancy's  gilded  clouds  decay, 
And  all  its  varying  rainbows  die  away; 
Wit  shoots  in  vain  its  momentary  fires, 
The  meteor  drops,  and  in  a  flash  expires. 
As,  one  by  one,  at  dread  Medea's  strain 
The  sick'ning  stars  fade  off  the  ethereal  plain; 
As  Argus'  eyes,  by  Hermes'  wand  oppress'd, 
Closed,  one  by  one,  to  everlasting  rest; — 
Thus,  at  her  felt  approach  and  secret  might, 
Art  after  Art  goes  out,  and  all  is  night. 
See  skulking  Truth  to  her  old  cavern  fled. 
Mountains  of  casulstrj^  heaped  o'er  her  head; 
Philosophy,  that  leaned  on  Heaven  before, 
Shrinks  to  her  second  cause  and  is  no  more. 
Religion,  blushing,  veils  her  sacred  fires. 
And,  unawares.  Morality  expires. 
Nor  public  flame,  nor  private,  dares  to  shine, 
Nor  human  spark  is  left,  nor  glimpse  divine. 
Lo!  thy  dread  empire.  Chaos,  is  restored. 
Light  dies  before  thy  uncreating  word; 
Thy  hand,  great  Anarch,  lets  the  curtain  fall. 
And  universal  darkness  buries  all."  ^ 

In  these  astonishing  lines  Pope  reaches,  I  think,  to  the 
very  greatest  height  which  his  sublime  art  has  attained, 
and  shows  himself  the  equal  of  all  poets  of  all  times.    It 

*"Hc  (Johnson)  repeated  to  us,  in  his  forcible  melodious  manner,  the 
concluding  linos  of  the  '  Dunciad.' "—Bosweli,. 

^ "  Mr.  Langton  informed  me  that  he  once  related  to  Johnson  (on  the 
authority  of  Sy)onrc),  that  Pope  himself  admired  these  lines  so  much  that 
when  he  repeated  them  his  voice  faltered.  '  And  well  it  might,  sir,'  said 
Johnson,  '  for  they  are  noble  lines.'"— J.  Boswell,  junior. 


PRIOR,   GAY,   AND   POPE  317 

is  the  brightest  ardour,  the  loftiest  assertion  of  truth,  the 
most  generous  wisdom,  illustrated  by  the  noblest  poetic 
figure,  and  spoken  in  words  the  aptest,  grandest,  and 
most  harmonious.  It  is  heroic  courage  speaking:  a 
splendid  declaration  of  righteous  wrath  and  war.  It  is 
the  gage  flung  down,  and  the  silver  trumpet  ringing  de- 
fiance to  falsehood  and  tyranny,  deceit,  dulness,  super- 
stition. It  is  Truth,  the  champion,  shining  and  intrepid, 
and  fronting  the  great  world-tyrant  with  armies  of 
slaves  at  his  back.  It  is  a  wonderful  and  victorious  sin- 
gle combat,  in  that  great  battle,  which  has  always  been 
waging  since  society  began. 

In  speaking  of  a  work  of  consummate  art  one  does  not 
try  to  show  what  it  actually  is,  for  that  were  vain;  but 
what  it  is  like,  and  what  are  the  sensations  produced  in 
the  mind  of  him  who  views  it.  And  in  considering 
Pope's  admirable  career,  I  am  forced  into  similitudes 
drawn  from  other  courage  and  greatness,  and  into  com- 
paring him  with  those  who  achieved  triumphs  in  actual 
war.  I  think  of  the  works  of  young  Pope  as  I  do  of  the 
actions  of  young  Bonaparte  or  young  Nelson.  In  their 
common  life  you  will  find  frailties  and  meannesses,  as 
great  as  the  vices  and  follies  of  the  meanest  men.  But 
in  the  presence  of  the  great  occasion,  the  great  soul 
flashes  out,  and  conquers  transcendent.  In  thinking  of 
the  splendour  of  Pope's  young  victories,  of  his  merit, 
unequalled  as  his  renown,  I  hail  and  salute  the  achieving 
genius,  and  do  homage  to  the  pen  of  a  hero. 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING 

I  SUPPOSE,  as  long  as  novels  last  and  authors  aim 
at  interesting  their  public,  there  must  always  be  in 
the  story  a  virtuous  and  gallant  hero,  a  wicked  monster 
his  opposite,  and  a  pretty  girl  who  finds  a  champion; 
bravery  and  virtue  conquer  beauty;  and  vice,  after 
seeming  to  triumph  through  a  certain  number  of  pages, 
is  sure  to  be  discomfited  in  the  last  volume,  when  justice 
overtakes  him  and  honest  folks  come  by  their  own. 
There  never  was  perhaps  a  greatly  popular  story  but  this 
simple  plot  was  carried  through  it:  mere  satiric  wit  is 
addressed  to  a  class  of  readers  and  thinkers  quite  differ- 
ent to  those  simple  souls  who  laugh  and  weep  over  the 
novel.  I  fancy  very  few  ladies  indeed,  for  instance, 
could  be  brought  to  like  "  Gulliver"  heartily,  and  (put- 
ting the  coarseness  and  difference  of  manners  out  of  the 
question)  to  relish  the  wonderful  satire  of  "Jonathan 
Wild."  In  that  strange  apologue,  the  author  takes  for 
a  hero  the  greatest  rascal,  coward,  traitor,  tyrant,  hypo- 
crite, that  his  wit  and  experience,  both  large  in  this  mat- 
ter, could  enable  him  to  devise  or  depict ;  he  accompanies 
this  villain  through  all  the  actions  of  his  life,  with  a  grin- 
ning deference  and  a  wonderful  mock  respect:  and 
doesn't  leave  him,  till  he  is  dangling  at  the  gallows,  when 
the  satirist  makes  him  a  low  bow  and  wishes  the  scoundrel 
good  day. 

It  was  not  by  satire  of  this  sort,  or  by  scorn  and  con- 
sis 


Hogarth 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  319 

tempt,  that  Hogarth  achieved  his  vast  popularity  and 
acquired  his  reputation/  His  art  is  quite  simple,^  he 
speaks  popular  parables  to  interest  simple  hearts,  and  to 
inspire  them  with  pleasure  or  pity  or  warning  and  terror. 

'  Coleridge  speaks  of  the  "  beautiful  female  faces  "  in  Hogarth's  pictures, 
"  in  whom,"  he  says,  "  the  satirist  never  extinguished  that  love  of  beauty 
which  belonged  to  him  as  a  poet." — The  Friend. 

^ "  I  was  pleased  with  the  reply  of  a  gentleman,  who,  being  asked  which 
book  he  esteemed  most  in  his  library,  answered  '  Shakspeare  : "  being  asked 
which  he  esteemed  next  best,  replied  '  Hogarth.'  His  graphic  representa- 
tions are  indeed  books:  they  have  the  teeming,  fruitful,  suggestive  meaning 
of  loords.    Other  pictures  we  look  at— his  prints  we  read 

"  The  quantity  of  thought  which  Hogarth  crowds  into  every  picture  would 
almost  unvulgarise  every  subject  which  he  might  choose 

"I  say  not  that  all  the  ridiculous  subjects  of  Hogarth  have  necessarily 
something  in  them  to  make  us  like  them;  some  are  indifferent  to  us,  some  in 
their  nature  repulsive,  and  only  made  interesting  by  the  wonderful  skill 
and  truth  to  nature  in  the  painter;  but  I  contend  that  there  is  in  most  of 
them  that  sprinkling  of  the  better  nature,  which,  like  holy  water,  chases  away 
and  disperses  the  contagion  of  the  bad.  They  have  this  in  them,  besides,  that 
they  bring  us  acquainted  with  the  every-day  human  face,— they  give  us 
skill  to  detect  those  gradations  of  sense  and  virtue  (which  escape  the  care- 
less or  fastidious  observer)  in  the  circumstances  of  the  world  about  us;  and 
prevent  that  disgust  at  common  life,  that  tadium  quotidianarum  formarum, 
which  an  unrestricted  passion  for  ideal  forms  and  beauties  is  in  danger  of 
producing.  In  this,  as  in  many  other  things,  they  are  analogous  to  the  best 
novels  of  Smollett  and  Fielding."— Charles  Lamb. 

"  It  has  been  observed  that  Hogarth's  pictures  are  exceedingly  unlike  any 
other  representations  of  the  same  kind  of  subjects— that  they  form  a  class, 
and  have  a  character,  peculiar  to  themselves.  It  may  be  worth  while  to  con- 
sider in  what  this  general  distinction  consists. 

"In  the  first  place,  they  are,  in  the  strictest  sense,  historical  pictures;  and 
if  what  Fielding  says  be  true,  that  his  novel  of  'Tom  Jones'  ought  to  be 
regarded  as  an  epic  prose-poem,  because  it  contained  a  regular  development 
of  fable,  manners,  character,  and  passion,  the  compositions  of  Hogarth  will, 
in  like  manner,  be  found  to  have  a  higher  claim  to  the  title  of  epic  pictures 
than  many  which  have  of  late  arrogated  that  denomination  to  themselves. 
When  we  say  that  Hogarth  treated  his  subject  historically,  we  mean  that  his 
works  represent  the  manners  and  humours  of  mankind  in  action,  and  their 
characters  by  varied  expression.  Everything  in  his  pictures  has  life  and 
motion  in  it.  Not  only  does  the  business  of  the  scene  never  stand  still,  but 
every  feature  and  muscle  is  put  into  full  play;  the  exact  feeling  of  the 
moment  is  brought  out,  and  carried  to  its  utmost  height,  and  then  instantly 
seized  and  stamped  on  the  canvas  for  ever.  The  expression  is  always  taken 
en  passant,  in  a  state  of  progress  or  change,  and,  as  it  were,  at  the  salient 

point His  figures   are  not  like  the   back-ground  on  which  they 

are  painted:  even  the  pictures  on  the  wall  have  a  peculiar  look  of  their  own. 
Again,  with  the  rapidity,  variety,  and  scope  of  history,  Hogarth's  heads  have 
all  the  reality  and  correctness  of  portraits.  He  gives  the  extremes  of  char- 
acter and  expression,  but  he  gives  them  with  perfect  truth  and  accuracy. 
This  is,  in  fact,  what  distinguishes  his  compositions  from  all  others  of  the 
same  kind,  that  they  are  equally  remote  from  caricature,  and  from  mere  still 

life His  faces  go  to  the  very  verge  of  caricature,  and  yet  never 

(we  believe  in  any  single  instance)  go  beyond  it."— Hazlitt. 


320  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

Not  one  of  his  tales  but  is  as  easy  as  "  Goody  Twoshoes ;  '* 
it  is  the  moral  of  Tommy  was  a  naughty  boy  and  the 
master  flogged  him,  and  Jacky  was  a  good  boy  and  had 
plum-cake,  w^hich  pervades  the  whole  works  of  the 
homely  and  famous  English  moralist.  And  if  the  moral 
is  written  in  rather  too  large  letters  after  the  fable,  we 
must  remember  how  simple  the  scholars  and  schoolmaster 
both  were,  and  like  neither  the  less  because  they  are  so 
artless  and  honest.  "  It  was  a  maxim  of  Dr.  Plarri- 
son's,"  Fielding  says,  in  "Amelia,"— speaking  of  the  be- 
nevolent divine  and  philosopher  who  represents  the  good 
principle  in  that  novel—"  that  no  man  can  descend  below 
himself,  in  doing  any  act  which  may  contribute  to  protect 
an  innocent  person,  or  to  bring  a  rogue  to  the  gallows." 
The  moralists  of  that  age  had  no  compunction,  you  see ; 
they  had  not  begun  to  be  sceptical  about  the  theory  of 
punishment,  and  thought  that  the  hanging  of  a  thief  was 
a  spectacle  for  edification.  Masters  sent  their  appren- 
tices, fathers  took  their  children,  to  see  Jack  Sheppard 
or  Jonathan  Wild  hanged,  and  it  was  as  undoubting  sub- 
scribers to  this  moral  law,  that  Fielding  wrote  and  Ho- 
garth painted.  Except  in  one  instance,  where,  in  the 
mad-house  scene  in  the  "Rake's  Progress,"  the  girl 
whom  he  has  ruined  is  represented  as  still  tending  and 
weeping  over  him  in  his  insanity,  a  glimpse  of  pity  for 
his  rogues  never  seems  to  enter  honest  Hogarth's  mind. 
There's  not  the  slightest  doubt  in  the  breast  of  the  joll)^ 
Draco. 

The  famous  set  of  pictures  called  "JMarriage  a  la 
Mode,"  and  which  are  now  exhibited  in  the  National 
Gallery  in  London,  contains  the  most  important  and 
highly  wrought  of  the  Hogarth  comedies.  The  care  and 
method  with  which  the  moral  grounds  of  these  pictures 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  321 

are  laid  is  as  remarkable  as  the  wit  and  skill  of  the  ob- 
serving and  dexterous  artist.  He  has  to  describe  the 
negotiations  for  a  marriage  pending  between  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  rich  citizen  Alderman  and  young  Lord  Viscount 
Squanderfield,  the  dissipated  son  of  a  gouty  old  Earl. 
Pride  and  pomposity  appear  in  every  accessory  sur- 
rounding the  Earl.  He  sits  in  gold  lace  and  velvet— as 
how  should  such  an  Earl  wear  anything  but  velvet  and 
gold  lace?  His  coronet  is  everywhere:  on  his  footstool, 
on  which  reposes  one  gouty  toe  turned  out;  on  the 
sconces  and  looking-glasses;  on  the  dogs;  on  his  lord- 
ship's very  crutches ;  on  his  great  chair  of  state  and  the 
great  baldaquin  behind  him;  under  which  he  sits  point- 
ing majestically  to  his  pedigree,  which  shows  that  his 
race  is  sprung  from  the  loins  of  William  the  Conqueror, 
and  confronting  the  old  Alderman  from  the  City,  who 
has  mounted  his  sword  for  the  occasion,  and  wears  his 
Alderman's  chain,  and  has  brought  a  bag  full  of  money, 
mortgage-deeds,  and  thousand-pound  notes,  for  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  transaction  pending  between  them. 
Whilst  the  steward  (a  Methodist— therefore  a  hypocrite 
and  cheat:  for  Hogarth  scorned  a  Papist  and  a  Dis- 
senter,) is  negotiating  between  the  old  couple,  their  chil- 
dren sit  together,  united  but  apart.  My  lord  is  admiring 
his  countenance  in  the  glass,  while  his  bride  is  twiddling 
her  marriage  ring  on  her  pocket-handkerchief,  and  lis- 
tening with  rueful  countenance  to  Counsellor  Silver- 
tongue,  who  has  been  drawing  the  settlements.  The  girl 
is  pretty,  but  the  painter,  with  a  curious  watchfulness, 
has  taken  care  to  give  her  a  likeness  to  her  father ;  as  in 
the  young  Viscount's  face  you  see  a  resemblance 
to  the  Earl,  his  noble  sire.  The  sense  of  the  coronet 
pervades    the    picture,    as    it   is    supposed   to   do   the 


322  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

mind  of  its  wearer.  The  pictures  round  the  room  are 
sly  hints  indicating  the  situation  of  the  parties  about 
to  marry.  A  martyr  is  led  to  the  fire;  Andromeda 
is  offered  to  sacrifice;  Judith  is  going  to  slay  Holo- 
f ernes.  There  is  the  ancestor  of  the  house  (in  the  pic- 
ture it  is  the  Earl  himself  as  a  young  man),  with 
a  comet  over  his  head,  indicating  that  the  career  of  the 
family  is  to  be  briUiant  and  brief.  In  the  second  picture, 
the  old  lord  must  be  dead,  for  Madam  has  now  the  Coun- 
tess's coronet  over  her  bed  and  toilet-glass,  and  sits  listen- 
ing to  that  dangerous  Counsellor  Silvertongue,  whose 
portrait  now  actually  hangs  up  in  her  room,  whilst  the 
counsellor  takes  his  ease  on  the  sofa  by  her  side,  evidently 
the  familiar  of  the  house,  and  the  confidant  of  the  mis- 
tress. My  lord  takes  his  pleasure  elsewhere  than  at 
home,  whither  he  returns  jaded  and  tipsy  from  the 
"  Rose,"  to  find  his  wife  yawning  in  her  drawing-room, 
her  whist-party  over,  and  the  daylight  streaming  in ;  or 
he  amuses  himself  with  the  very  worst  company  abroad, 
whilst  his  wife  sits  at  home  listening  to  foreign  singers, 
or  wastes  her  money  at  auctions,  or,  worse  still,  seeks 
amusement  at  masquerades.  The  dismal  end  is  known. 
My  lord  draws  upon  the  counsellor,  who  kills  him,  and  is 
apprehended  whilst  endeavouring  to  escape.  My  lady 
goes  back  perforce  to  the  Alderman  in  the  City,  and 
faints  upon  reading  Counsellor  Silvertongue's  dying 
speech  at  Tyburn,  where  the  counsellor  has  been  exe- 
cuted for  sending  his  lordship  out  of  the  world.  Moral : 
—Don't  listen  to  evil  silver-tongued  counsellors:  don't 
marry  a  man  for  his  rank,  or  a  woman  for  her  mone}^: 
don't  frequent  foolish  auctions  and  masquerade  balls  un- 
known to  your  husband :  don't  have  wicked  companions 
abroad  and  neglect  your  wife,  otherwise  you  will  be  run 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  323 

through  the  body,  and  ruin  will  ensue,  and  disgrace,  and 
Tyburn.  The  people  are  all  naughty,  and  Bogey  car- 
ries them  all  off.  In  the  "  Rake's  Progress,"  a  loose  life 
is  ended  by  a  similar  sad  catastrophe.  It  is  the  spend- 
thrift coming  into  possession  of  the  wealth  of  the  pa- 
ternal miser ;  the  prodigal  surrounded  by  flatterers,  and 
wasting  his  substance  on  the  very  worst  company;  the 
baihfl's,  the  gambhng-house,  and  Bedlam  for  an  end.  In 
the  famous  story  of  "  Industry  and  Idleness,"  the  moral 
is  pointed  in  a  manner  similarly  clear.  Fair-haired 
Frank  Goodchild  smiles  at  his  work,  whilst  naughty  Tom 
Idle  snores  over  his  loom.  Frank  reads  the  edifying  bal- 
lads of  " Whittington "  and  the  "London  'Prentice," 
whilst  that  reprobate  Tom  Idle  prefers  "Moll  Flan- 
ders," and  drinks  hugely  of  beer.  Frank  goes  to  church 
of  a  Sunday,  and  warbles  hjmms  from  the  gallery ;  while 
Tom  lies  on  a  tombstone  outside  playing  at  "  half  penny- 
under-the-hat "  with  street  blackguards,  and  is  deserv- 
edly caned  by  the  beadle.  Frank  is  made  overseer  of 
the  business,  whilst  Tom  is  sent  to  sea.  Frank  is  taken 
into  partnership  and  marries  his  master's  daughter,  sends 
out  broken  victuals  to  the  poor,  and  listens  in  his  night- 
cap and  gown,  with  the  lovely  Mrs.  Goodchild  by  his 
side,  to  the  nuptial  music  of  the  City  bands  and  the  mar- 
row-bones and  cleavers ;  whilst  idle  Tom,  returned  from 
sea,  shudders  in  a  garret  lest  the  officers  are  coming  to 
take  him  for  picking  pockets.  The  Worshipful  Francis 
Goodchild,  Esq.,  becomes  SheriiF  of  London,  and  par- 
takes of  the  most  splendid  dinners  which  money  can  pur- 
chase or  Alderman  devour ;  whilst  poor  Tom  is  taken  up 
in  a  night-cellar,  with  that  one-eyed  and  disreputable  ac- 
complice who  first  taught  him  to  play  chuck-farthing  on 
a  Sunday.    What  happens  next?    Tom  is  brought  up 


324  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

before  the  justice  of  his  country,  in  the  person  of  ]Mr. 
Alderman  Goodchild,  who  weeps  as  he  recognizes  his  old 
brother  'prentice,  as  Tom's  one-eyed  friend  peaches  on 
him,  and  the  clerk  makes  out  the  poor  rogue's  ticket  for 
Newgate.  Then  the  end  comes.  Tom  goes  to  Tyburn 
in  a  cart  with  a  coffin  in  it ;  whilst  the  Right  Honourable 
Francis  Goodchild,  Lord  Mayor  of  London,  proceeds  to 
his  iMansion  House,  in  his  gilt  coach  with  four  footmen 
and  a  sword-bearer,  whilst  the  Companies  of  London 
march  in  the  august  procession,  whilst  the  trainbands  of 
the  City  fire  their  pieces  and  get  drunk  in  his  honour; 
and— O  crowning  delight  and  glory  of  all— whilst  his 
Majesty  the  King  looks  out  from  his  royal  balcony,  with 
his  ribbon  on  his  breast,  and  his  Queen  and  his  star  by 
his  side,  at  the  corner  house  of  St.  Paul's  Churchyard. 

How  the  times  have  changed!  The  new  Post  Office 
now  not  disadvantageously  occupies  that  spot  where  the 
scaffolding  is  in  the  picture,  where  the  tipsy  trainband- 
man  is  lurching  against  the  post,  with  his  wig  over  one 
eye,  and  the  'prentice-boy  is  trying  to  kiss  the  pretty  girl 
in  the  gallery.  Passed  away  'prentice-boy  and  pretty 
girl!  Passed  away  tipsy  trainband-man  with  wig  and 
bandolier!  On  the  spot  where  Tom  Idle  (for  whom  I 
have  an  unaffected  pity)  made  his  exit  from  this  wicked 
world,  and  where  you  see  the  hangman  smoking  his  pipe 
as  he  reclines  on  the  gibbet  and  views  the  hills  of  Harrow 
or  Hampstead  beyond,  a  splendid  marble  arch,  a  vast 
and  modern  city— clean,  airy,  painted  drab,  populous 
with  nursery-maids  and  children,  the  abode  of  wealth  and 
comfort— the  elegant,  the  prosperous,  the  polite  Ty- 
burnia  rises,  the  most  respectable  district  in  the  habitable 
globe ! 

In  that  last  plate  of  the  London  Apprentices,  in  which 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  325 

the  apotheosis  of  the  Right  Honourable  Francis  Good- 
child  is  drawn,  a  ragged  fellow  is  represented  in  the 
corner  of  the  simple,  kindly  piece,  offering  for  sale  a 
broadside,  purporting  to  contain  an  account  of  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  ghost  of  Tom  Idle,  executed  at  Tyburn. 
Could  Tom's  ghost  have  made  its  appearance  in  1847, 
and  not  in  1747,  what  changes  would  have  been  remarked 
by  that  astonished  escaped  criminal!  Over  that  road 
which  the  hangman  used  to  travel  constantly,  and  the 
Oxford  stage  twice  a  week,  go  ten  thousand  carriages 
every  day :  over  yonder  road,  by  which  Dick  Turpin  fled 
to  Windsor,  and  Squire  Western  journeyed  into  town, 
when  he  came  to  take  up  his  quarters  at  the  "  Hercules 
Pillars"  on  the  outskirts  of  London,  what  a  rush  of 
civilization  and  order  flows  now !  What  armies  of  gen- 
tlemen with  umbrellas  march  to  banks,  and  chambers, 
and  counting-houses !  What  regiments  of  nursery -maids 
an<i  pretty  infantry;  what  peaceful  processions  of  po- 
licemen, what  light  broughams  and  what  gay  carriages, 
what  swarms  of  busy  apprentices  and  artificers,  riding 
on  omnibus-roofs,  pass  daily  and  hourly!  Tom  Idle's 
times  are  quite  changed:  many  of  the  institutions  gone 
into  disuse  which  were  admired  in  his  day.  There's  more 
pity  and  kindness  and  a  better  chance  for  poor  Tom's 
successors  now  than  at  that  simpler  period  when  Fielding 
hanged  him  and  Hogarth  drew  him. 

To  the  student  of  history,  these  admirable  works  must 
be  invaluable,  as  they  give  us  the  most  complete  and 
truthful  picture  of  the  manners,  and  even  the  thoughts, 
of  the  past  century.  We  look,  and  see  pass  before  us 
the  England  of  a  hundred  years  ago— the  peer  in  his 
drawing-room,  the  lady  of  fashion  in  her  apartment,  for- 
eign singers  surrounding  her,  and  the  chamber  filled  with 


326  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

gewgaws  in  the  mode  of  that  day;  the  church,  with  its 
quaint  florid  architecture  and  singing  congregation ;  the 
parson  with  his  great  wig,  and  the  beadle  with  his  cane : 
all  these  are  represented  before  us,  and  we  are  sure  of 
the  truth  of  the  portrait.    We  see  how  the  Lord  Mayor 
dines  in  state ;  how  the  prodigal  drinks  and  sports  at  the 
bagnio ;  how  the  poor  girl  beats  hemp  in  Bridewell ;  how 
the  thief  divides  his  booty  and  drinks  his  punch  at  the 
night-cellar,  and  how  he  finishes  his  career  at  the  gibbet. 
We  may  depend  upon  the  perfect  accuracy  of  these 
strange  and  varied  portraits  of  the  bygone  generation: 
we  see  one  of  Walpole's  Members  of  Parliament  chaired 
after  his  election,  and  the  lieges  celebrating  the  event, 
and  drinking  confusion  to  the  Pretender:  we  see  the 
grenadiers  and  trainbands  of  the  City  marching  out  to 
meet  the  enemy ;  and  have  before  us,  with  sword  and  fire- 
lock, and  white  Hanoverian  horse  embroidered  on  the 
cap,  the  very  figures  of  the  men  who  ran  away  with 
Johnny  Cope,  and  who  conquered  at  Culloden.     The 
Yorkshire  waggon  rolls  into  the  inn  yard;  the  country 
parson,  in  his  jack-boots,  and  his  bands  and  short  casscck, 
comes  trotting  into  town,  and  we  fancy  it  is  Parson 
Adams,  with  his  sermons  in  his  pocket.    The  Salisbury 
fly  sets  forth  from  the  old  "Angel"— you  see  the  pas- 
sengers entering  the  great  heavy  vehicle,  up  the  wooden 
steps,  their  hats  tied  down  with  handkerchiefs  over  their 
faces,  and  under  their  arms,  sword,  hanger,  and  case- 
bottle;  the  landlady— apoplectic  with  the  liquors  in  her 
own  bar— is  tugging  at  the  bell;  the  hunchbacked  pos- 
tilion—he may  have  ridden  the  leaders  to  Humphrey 
Clinker— is  begging  a  gratuity;  the  miser  is  grumbling 
at  the  bill;  Jack  of  the  "  Centurion"  lies  on  the  top  of 
the  clumsy  vehicle,  with  a  soldier  by  his  side— it  may  be 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  327 

Smollett's  Jack  Hatchway— it  has  a  likeness  to  Lisma- 
hago.  You  see  the  suburban  fair  and  the  strolling  com- 
pany of  actors;  the  pretty  milkmaid  singing  under  the 
windows  of  the  enraged  French  musician:  it  is  such  a 
girl  as  Steele  charmingly  described  in  the  Guardian,  a 
few  years  before  this  date,  singing,  under  Mr.  Ironside's 
window  in  Shire  Lane,  her  pleasant  carol  of  a  May  morn- 
ing. You  see  noblemen  and  blacklegs  bawling  and  bet- 
ting in  the  Cockpit :  you  see  Garrick  as  he  was  arrayed 
in  "  King  Richard; "  JNIacheath  and  Polly  in  the  dresses 
which  they  wore  when  they  charmed  our  ancestors,  and 
when  noblemen  in  blue  ribbons  sat  on  the  stage  and  lis- 
tened to  their  delightful  music.  You  see  the  ragged 
French  soldiery,  in  their  white  coats  and  cockades,  at 
Calais  Gate :  they  are  of  the  regiment,  very  likely,  which 
friend  Roderick  Random  joined  before  he  was  rescued 
by  his  preserver  Monsieur  de  Strap,  with  whom  he 
fought  on  the  famous  day  of  Dettingen.  You  see  the 
judges  on  the  bench;  the  audience  laughing  in  the  pit; 
the  student  in  the  Oxford  theatre;  the  citizen  on  his 
country  walk;  you  see  Broughton  the  boxer,  Sarah 
Malcolm  the  murderess,  Simon  Lovat  the  traitor,  John 
Wilkes  the  demagogue,  leering  at  you  with  that  squint 
which  has  become  historical,  and  that  face  which,  ugly  as 
it  was,  he  said  he  could  make  as  captivating  to  woman  as 
the  countenance  of  the  handsomest  beau  in  town.  All 
these  sights  and  people  are  with  you.  After  looking  in 
the  "Rake's  Progress"  at  Hogarth's  picture  of  St. 
James's  Palace  Gate,  you  may  people  the  street,  but 
little  altered  within  these  hundred  years,  with  the  gilded 
carriages  and  thronging  chairmen  that  bore  the  courtiers 
your  ancestors  to  Queen  Caroline's  drawing-room  more 
than  a  hundred  years  ago. 


328  ENGLISH    HUMOURISTS 

What  manner  of  man  ^  was  he  who  executed  these 
portraits — so  various,  so  faithful,  and  so  admirable?    In 

*  Hogarth  (whose  family  name  was  Hogart)  was  the  grandson  of  a 
Westmoreland  yeoman.  His  father  came  to  London,  and  was  an  author  and 
schoolmaster.  William  was  born  in  1698  (according  to  the  most  probable 
conjecture)  in  the  parish  of  St.  Martin,  Ludgate.  He  was  early  appren- 
ticed to  an  engraver  of  arms  on  plate.  The  following  touches  are  from  his 
"Anecdotes  of  Himself."     (Edition  of  1833.)  — 

"  As  I  had  naturally  a  good  eye,  and  a  fondness  for  drawing,  shows  of  all 
sorts  gave  me  uncommon  pleasure  when  an  infant;  and  mimicry,  common  to 
all  children,  was  remarkable  in  me.  An  early  access  to  a  neighbouring 
painter  drew  my  attention  from  play;  and  I  was,  at  every  possible  oppor- 
tunity, employed  in  making  drawings.  I  picked  up  an  acquaintance  of  the 
same  turn,  and  soon  learnt  to  draw  the  alphabet  with  great  correctness.  My 
exercises,  when  at  school,  were  more  remarkable  for  the  ornaments  which 
adorned  them,  than  for  the  exercise  itself.  In  the  former,  I  soon  found 
that  blockheads  with  better  memories  could  much  surpass  me;  but  for  the 
latter  I  was  particularly  distinguished 

"  I  thought  it  still  more  unlikely  that  by  pursuing  the  common  method, 
and  copying  old  drawings,  I  could  ever  attain  the  power  of  making  new 
designs,  which  was  my  first  and  greatest  ambition.  I  therefore  endeavoured 
to  habituate  myself  to  the  exercise  of  a  sort  of  technical  memory;  and  by 
repeating  in  my  own  mind  the  parts  of  which  objects  were  composed,  I 
could  by  degrees  combine  and  put  them  down  with  my  pencil.  Thus,  with 
all  the  drawbacks  which  resulted  from  the  circumstances  I  have  mentioned, 
I  had  one  material  advantage  over  my  competitors,  viz.  the  early  habit  I  thus 
acquired  of  retaining  in  my  mind's  eye,  without  coldly  copying  it  on  the 
spot,  whatever  I  intended  to  imitate. 

"  The  instant  I  became  master  of  my  own  time,  I  determined  to  qualify 
myself  for  engraving  on  copper.  In  this  I  readily  got  employment;  and 
frontispieces  to  books,  such  as  prints  to  '  Hudibras,'  in  twelves,  &c.,  soon 
brought  me  into  the  way.  But  the  tribe  of  booksellers  remained  as  my 
father  had  left  them  ....  which  put  me  upon  publishing  on  my  own 
account.  But  here  again  I  had  to  encounter  a  monopoly  of  printsellers, 
equally  mean  and  destructive  to  the  ingenious;  for  the  first  plate  I  published, 
called  '  The  Taste  of  the  Town,'  in  which  the  reigning  follies  were  lashed, 
had  no  sooner  begun  to  take  a  run,  than  I  found  copies  of  it  in  the  print- 
shops,  vending  at  half-price,  while  the  original  prints  were  returned  to  me 
again,  and  I  was  thus  obliged  to  sell  the  plate  for  whatever  these  pirates 
pleased  to  give  me,  as  there  was  no  place  of  sale  but  at  their  shops.  Owing 
to  this,  and  other  circumstances,  by  engraving,  until  I  was  near  thirty,  I 
could  do  little  more  than  maintain  myself;  but  even  then,  I  teas  a  punctual 
paymaster. 

"  I  then  married,  and—" 

[But  William  is  going  too  fast  here.  He  made  "a  stolen  union,"  on 
March  23,  1729,  with  Jane,  daughter  of  Sir  James  Thornhill,  serjeant-painter. 
For  some  time  Sir  James  kept  his  heart  and  his  purse-strings  close,  but 
"soon  after  became  both  reconciled  and  generous  to  the  young  couple."  — 
Hogarth's  Works,  by  Nichols  and  Steevens,  vol.  i.  p.  44.] 

"  —  commenced  pninter  of  small  Conversation  Pieces,  from  twelve  to  fif- 
teen inches  high.    This,  being  a  novelty,  succeeded  for  a  few  years." 

[About  this  time  Hogarth  had  summer  lodgings  at  South  Lambeth,  and 
did  all  kinds  of  work,  "  embellishing "  the  "  Spring  Gardens "  at  "  Vaux- 
hall,"  and  the  like.  In  1731,  he  published  a  satirical  plate  against  Pope, 
founded  on  the  well-known  imputation  against  him  of  his  having  satirised 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  329 

the  National  Collection  of  Pictures  most  of  us  have  seen 
the  best  and  most  carefully  finished  series  of  his  comic 

the  Duke  of  Chandos,  under  the  name  of  Timon,  in  his  poem  on  "  Taste." 
The  plate  represented  a  view  of  Burlington  House,  with  Pope  whitewashing 
it,  and  bespattering  the  Duke  of  Chandos's  coach.  Pope  made  no  retort, 
and  has  never  mentioned  Hogarth.] 

"  Before  I  had  done  anything  of  much  consequence  in  this  walk,  I  enter- 
tained some  hopes  of  succeeding  in  what  the  puffers  in  books  call  The  Great 
Style  of  History  Painting;  so  that  without  having  had  a  stroke  of  this  grand 
business  before,  I  quitted  small  portraits  and  familiar  conversations,  and 
with  a  smile  at  my  own  temerity,  commenced  history-painter,  and  on  a  great 
staircase  at  St.  Bartholomew's  Hospital,  painted  two  Scripture  stories,  the 
'  Pool  of  Bethesda '  and  the  '  Good  Samaritan,'  with  figures  seven  feet  high. 
.  .  .  .  But  as  religion,  the  great  promoter  of  this  style  in  other 
countries,  rejected  it  in  England,  I  was  unwilling  to  sink  into  a  portrait 
manufacturer;  and  still  ambitious  of  being  singular,  dropped  all  expectations 
of  advantage  from  that  source,  and  returned  to  the  pursuit  of  my  former 
dealings  with  the  public  at  large. 

"  As  to  portrait-painting,  the  chief  branch  of  the  art  by  which  a  painter 
can  procure  himself  a  tolerable  livelihood,  and  the  only  one  by  which  a  lover 
of  money  can  get  a  fortune,  a  man  of  very  moderate  talents  may  have  great 
success  in  it,  as  the  artifice  and  address  of  a  mercer  is  infinitely  more  useful 
than  the  abilities  of  a  painter.  By  the  manner  in  which  the  present  race  of 
professors  in  England  conduct  it,  that  also  becomes  still  life." 

"By  this  inundation  of  folly  and  puff"  {he  ha*  been  speaking  of  the  suc- 
cess of  Vanloo,  %cho  came  over  here  in  1737),  "I  must  confess  I  was  much 
disgusted,  and  determined  to  try  if  by  any  means  I  could  stem  the  torrent, 
and,  by  opposing,  end  it.  I  laughed  at  the  pretensions  of  these  quacks  in 
colouring,  ridiculed  their  productions  as  feeble  and  contemptible,  and  as- 
serted that  it  required  neither  taste  nor  talents  to  excel  their  most  popular 
performances.  This  interference  excited  much  enmity,  because,  as  my  op- 
ponents told  me,  my  studies  were  in  another  way.  '  You  talk,'  added  they, 
'with  ineffable  contempt  of  portrait-painting;  if  it  is  so  easy  a  task,  why  do 
not  you  convince  the  world,  by  painting  a  portrait  yourself?'  Provoked 
at  this  language,  I,  one  day  at  the  Academy  in  St.  Martin's  Lane,  put  the 
following  question:  'Supposing  any  man,  at  this  time,  were  to  paint  a  por- 
trait as  well  as  Vandyke,  would  it  be  seen  or  acknowledged,  and  could  the 
artist  enjoy  the  benefit  or  acquire  the  reputation  due  to  his  performance?' 

"They  asked  me  in  reply,  If  I  could  paint  one  as  well?  and  I  frankly  an- 
swered, I   believed  I  could 

"  Of  the  mighty  talents  said  to  be  requisite  for  portrait-painting  I  had 
not  the  most  exalted  opinion." 

Let  us  now  hear  him  on  the  question  of  the  Academy: — 

"  To  pester  the  three  great  estates  of  the  empire,  about  twenty  or  thirty 
students  drawing  after  a  man  or  a  horse,  appears,  as  must  be  acknowledged, 
foolish  enough:  but  the  real  motive  is,  that  a  few  bustling  characters,  who 
have  access  to  people  of  rank,  think  they  can  thus  get  a  superiority  over  their 
brethren,  be  appointed  to  places,  and  have  salaries,  as  in  France,  for  telling 
a  lad  when  a  leg  or  an  arm  is  too  long  or  too  short 

"  France,  ever  aping  the  magnificence  of  other  nations,  has  in  its  turn 
assumed  a  foppish  kind  of  splendour  sufficient  to  dazzle  the  eyes  of  the 
neighbouring  states,  and  draw  vast  sums  of  money  from  this  country.    .     .    . 

"To  return  to  our  Royal  Academy:  I  am  told  that  one  of  their  leading  ob- 
jects will  be,  sending  young  men  abroad  to  study  the  antique  statues,  for 


330  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

paintings,  and  tlie  portrait  of  his  own  honest  face,  of 
which  the  bright  blue  eyes  shine  out  from  the  canvas  and 
give  you  an  idea  of  that  keen  and  brave  look  with  which 
William  Hogarth  regarded  the  world.  No  man  was 
ever  less  of  a  hero;  you  see  him  before  you,  and  can 
fancy  what  he  was — a  jovial,  honest  London  citizen, 

such  kind  of  studies  may  sometimes  improve  an  exalted  genius,  but  they  will 
not  create  it;  and  whatever  has  been  the  cause,  this  same  travelling  to  Italy 
has,  in  several  instances  that  I  have  seen,  reduced  the  student  from  nature, 
and  led  him  to  paint  marble  figures,  in  which  he  has  availed  himself  of  the 
great  works  of  antiquity,  as  a  coward  does  when  he  puts  on  the  armour  of 
an  Alexander;  for,  with  similar  pretensions  and  similar  vanity,  the  painter 
supposes  he  shall  be  adored  as  a  second  Raphael  Urbino." 

We  must  now  hear  him  on  his  "  Sigismunda:  " — 

"As  the  most  violent  and  virulent  abuse  thrown  on  'Sigismunda'  was 
from  a  set  of  miscreants,  with  whom  I  am  proud  of  having  been  ever  at 
war — I  mean  the  expounders  of  the  m3'steries  of  old  pictures  —  I  have  been 
sometimes  told  they  were  beneath  my  notice.  This  is  true  of  them  individu- 
ally; but  as  they  have  access  to  people  of  rank,  who  seem  as  happy  in  being 
cheated  as  these  merchants  are  in  cheating  them,  they  have  a  power  of  doing 
much  mischief  to  a  modern  artist.  However  mean  the  vendor  of  poisons, 
the  mineral  is  destructive:— to  me  its  operation  was  troublesome  enough. 
Ill  nature  spreads  so  fast  that  now  was  the  time  for  every  little  dog  in  the 
profession  to  bark !  " 

Next  comes  a  characteristic  account  of  his  controversy  with  Wilkes  and 
Churchill. 

"  The  stagnation  rendered  it  necessary  that  I  should  do  some  timed  thing, 
to  recover  my  lost  time,  and  stop  a  gap  in  my  income.  This  drew  forth  my 
print  of  'The  Times,'  a  subject  which  tended  to  the  restoration  of  peace  and 
unanimity,  and  put  the  opposers  of  these  humane  objects  in  a  light  which  gave 
great  offence  to  those  who  were  trying  to  foment  disaffection  in  the  minds  of 
the  populace.  One  of  the  most  notorious  of  them,  till  now  my  friend  and 
flatterer,  attacked  me  in  the  North  Briton,  in  so  infamous  and  malign  a 
style,  that  he  himself,  when  pushed  even  by  his  best  friends,  was  driven  to 
so  poor  an  excuse  as  to  say  he  was  drunk  when  he  wrote  it.    .     .     . 

"  This  renowned  patriot's  portrait,  drawn  like  as  I  could  as  to  features, 
and  marked  with  some  indications  of  his  mind,  fully  answered  my  purpose. 
The  ridiculous  was  apparent  to  every  eye !  A  Brutus !  A  saviour  of  his 
country  with  such  an  aspect— was  so  arrant  a  farce,  that  though  it  gave  rise 
to  much  laughter  in  the  lookers-on,  galled  both  him  and  his  adherents  to  the 
bone.     .     .     . 

"  Churchill,  Wilkes's  toad-echo,  put  the  North  Briton  into  verse,  in  an 
Epistle  to  Hogarth;  but  as  the  abuse  was  precisely  the  same,  except  a  little 
poetical  heightening,  which  goes  for  nothing,  it  made  no  impression.  .  .  . 
However,  having  an  old  plate  by  me,  with  some  parts  ready,  such  as  the 
back-ground  and  a  dog,  I  began  to  consider  how  I  could  turn  so  much  work 
laid  aside  to  some  account,  and  so  patched  up  a  print  of  Master  Churchill  in 
the  character  of  a  Bear.  The  pleasure  and  pecuniary  advantage  which  I 
derived  from  these  two  engravings,  together  with  occasionally  riding  on 
horseback,  restored  me  to  as  much  health  as  can  be  expected  at  my  time  of 
life." 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  331 

stout  and  sturdy;  a  hearty,  plain-spoken  man,^  loving 
his  laugh,  his  friend,  his  glass,  his  roast-beef  of  Old  Eng- 
land, and  having  a  proper  bourgeois  scorn  for  French 
frogs,  for  mounseers,  and  wooden  shoes  in  general,  for 
foreign  fiddlers,  foreign  singers,  and,  above  all,  for 
foreign  painters,  whom  he  held  in  the  most  amusing  con- 
tempt. 

It  must  have  been  great  fun  to  hear  him  rage  against 
Correggio  and  the  Carracci;  to  watch  him  thump  the 
table  and  snap  his  fingers,  and  say,  "  Historical  painters 
be  hanged :  here's  the  man  that  will  paint  against  any  of 
them  for  a  hundred  pounds.  Correggio's  '  Sigismunda! ' 
Look  at  Bill  Hogarth's  '  Sigismunda; '  look  at  my  altar- 
piece  at  St.  Mary  RedclifFe,  Bristol;  look  at  my  'Paul 
before  Felix,'  and  see  whether  I'm  not  as  good  as  the 
best  of  them."  ^ 

* "  It  happened  in  the  early  part  of  Hogarth's  life,  that  a  nobleman  who 
was  uncommonly  ugly  and  deformed  came  to  sit  to  him  for  his  picture.  It 
was  executed  with  a  skill  that  did  honour  to  the  artist's  abilities;  but  the 
likeness  was  rigidly  observed,  without  even  the  necessary  attention  to  com- 
pliment or  flattery.  The  peer,  disgusted  at  this  counterpart  of  himself,  never 
once  thought  of  paying  for  a  reflection  that  would  only  disgust  him  with  his 
deformities.  Some  time  was  suff'ered  to  elapse  before  the  artist  applied  for 
his  money;  but  afterwards  many  applications  were  made  by  him  (who  had 
then  no  need  of  a  banker)  for  payment,  without  success.  The  painter,  how- 
ever, at  last  hit  upon  an  expedient.  ...  It  was  couched  in  the  following 
card: — 

" '  Mr.   Hogarth's   dutiful  respects  to  Lord Finding  that  he  does 

not  mean  to  have  the  picture  which  was  drawn  for  him,  is  informed  again 
of  Mr.  Hogarth's  necessity  for  the  money.  If,  therefore,  his  Lordship  does 
not  send  for  it,  in  three  days  it  will  be  disposed  of,  with  the  addition  of  a 
tail,  and  some  other  little  appendages,  to  Mr.  Hare,  the  famous  wild-beast 
man:  Mr.  Hogarth  having  given  that  gentleman  a  conditional  promise  of  it, 
for  an  exhibition-picture,  on  his  Lordship's  refusal.' 

"This  intimation  had  the  desired  effect." — Works,  by  Nichols  and  Stee- 
VEXs,  vol.  i.  p.  25. 

^  "  Garrick  himself  was  not  more  ductile  to  flattery.  A  word  in  favour 
of  '  Sigismunda '  might  have  commanded  a  proof-print  or  forced  an  original 
print  out  of  our  artist's  hands.     .     .     ." 

"The  following  authenticated  story  of  our  artist  (furnished  by  the  late 
Mr.  Belchior,  F.lt.S.,  a  surgeon  of  eminence)  will  also  serve  to  show  how 
much  more  easy  it  is  to  detect  ill-placed  or  hyperbolical  adulation  respecting 
others,  than  when  applied  to  ourselves.     Hogarth,  being  at  dinner  with  the 


332  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

Posterity  has  not  quite  confirmed  honest  Hogarth's 
opinion  about  his  talents  for  the  subhme.  Although 
Swift  could  not  see  the  difference  between  tweedle-dee 
and  tweedle-dum,  posterity  has  not  shared  the  Dean's 
contempt  for  Handel ;  the  world  has  discovered  a  differ- 
ence between  tweedle-dee  and  tweedle-dum,  and  given  a 
hearty  applause  and  admiration  to  Hogarth,  too,  but  not 
exactly  as  a  painter  of  scriptural  subjects,  or  as  a  rival 
of  Correggio.  It  does  not  take  away  from  one's  liking 
for  the  man,  or  from  the  moral  of  his  story,  or  the  hu- 
mour of  it— from  one's  admiration  for  the  prodigious 
merit  of  his  performances,  to  remember  that  he  persisted 
to  the  last  in  believing  that  the  world  was  in  a  conspiracy 
against  him  with  respect  to  his  talents  as  an  historical 
painter,  and  that  a  set  of  miscreants,  as  he  called  them, 
were  employed  to  run  his  genius  down.  They  say  it  was 
Liston's  firm  belief,  that  he  was  a  great  and  neglected 
tragic  actor ;  they  say  that  every  one  of  us  believes  in  his 
heart,  or  would  like  to  have  others  believe,  that  he  is 
something  which  he  is  not.  One  of  the  most  notorious  of 
the  "miscreants,"  Hogarth  says,  was  Wilkes,  who  as- 
sailed him  in  the  North  Briton;  the  other  was  Churchill, 
who  put  the  North  Briton  attack  into  heroic  verse,  and 
published  his  "  Epistle  to  Hogarth."  Hogarth  replied 
by  that  caricature  of  Wilkes,  in  which  the  patriot  still 
figures  before  us,  with  his  Satanic  grin  and  squint,  and 

great  Cheselden  and  some  other  company,  was  told  that  Mr.  John  Freke, 
surgeon  of  St.  Bartholomew's  Hospital,  a  few  evenings  before  at  Dick's 
Coffee-House,  had  asserted  that  Greene  was  as  eminent  in  composition  as 
Handel.  '  That  fellow  Freke,'  replied  Hogarth,  '  is  always  shooting  his  bolt 
absurdly,  one  wav  or  another.  Handel  is  a  giant  in  music;  Greene  only  a 
light  Fiorimel  kind  of  a  composer.'  '  Ay,'  says  our  artist's  informant,  '  but 
at  the  same  time  Mr.  Freke  declared  you  were  as  good  a  portrait-painter  as 
Vandyke.'  '  There  he  was  right,'  adds  Hogarth,  '  and  so,  by  G— ,  I  am, 
give  me  my  time  and  let  me  choose  my  subject.' "  —  VrorAa,  by  Nichols  and 
Steevens,  vol.  i.  pp.  236,  237. 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  333 

by  a  caricature  of  Churchill,  in  which  he  is  represented 
as  a  bear  with  a  staiF,  on  which,  lie  the  first,  lie  the  sec- 
ond—lie the  tenth,  are  engraved  in  unmistakable  letters. 
There  is  very  little  mistake  about  honest  Hogarth's  sat- 
ire: if  he  has  to  paint  a  man  with  his  throat  cut,  he 
draws  him  with  his  head  almost  oif ;  and  he  tried  to  do 
the  same  for  his  enemies  in  this  little  controversy. 
"  Having  an  old  plate  by  me,"  says  he,  "  with  some  parts 
ready,  such  as  the  background,  and  a  dog,  I  began  to 
consider  how  I  could  turn  so  much  work  laid  aside  to 
some  account,  and  so  patched  up  a  print  of  Master 
Churchill,  in  the  character  of  a  bear;  the  pleasure  and 
pecuniary  advantage  which  I  derived  from  these  two 
engravings,  together  with  occasionally  riding  on  horse- 
back, restored  me  to  as  much  health  as  I  can  expect  at 
my  time  of  hfe." 

And  so  he  concludes  his  queer  little  book  of  Anec- 
dotes: "  I  have  gone  through  the  circumstances  of  a  life 
which  till  lately  passed  pretty  much  to  my  own  satis- 
faction, and  I  hope  in  no  respect  injurious  to  any  other 
man.  This  I  may  safely  assert,  that  I  have  done  my 
best  to  make  those  about  me  tolerably  happy,  and  my 
greatest  enemy  cannot  say  I  ever  did  an  intentional  in- 
jury.   What  may  follow,  God  knows." 

A  queer  account  still  exists  of  a  holiday  jaunt  taken 
by  Hogarth  and  four  friends  of  his,  who  set  out,  like 
the  redoubted  Mr.  Pickwick  and  his  companions,  but 
just  a  hundred  years  before  those  heroes;  and  made  an 
excursion  to  Gravesend,  Rochester,  Sheerness,  and  ad- 
jacent places.^  One  of  the  gentlemen  noted  down  the 
proceedings  of  the  journey,  for  which  Hogarth  and  a 

^He  made  this  excursion  in  1732,  his  companions  being  John  Thornhill 
(son  of  Sir  James),  Scott  the  landscape-painter,  Tothall,  and  Forrest. 


334  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

brother  artist  made  drawings.  The  book  is  chiefly  curi- 
ous at  this  moment  from  showing  the  citizen  hfe  of 
those  days,  and  the  rough  jolly  style  of  merriment,  not 
of  the  five  companions  merely,  but  of  thousands  of  jolly 
fellows  of  their  time.  Hogarth  and  his  friends,  quitting 
the  "  Bedford  Arms,"  Covent  Garden,  with  a  song,  took 
water  to  Billingsgate,  exchanging  compliments  with  the 
bargemen  as  they  went  down  the  river.  At  BilHngsgate, 
Hogarth  made  "  a  caracatura "  of  a  facetious  porter, 
called  the  Duke  of  Puddledock,  who  agreeably  enter- 
tained the  party  with  the  humours  of  the  place.  Hence 
they  took  a  Gravesend  boat  for  themselves;  had  straw 
to  lie  upon,  and  a  tilt  over  their  heads,  they  say,  and  went 
down  the  river  at  night,  sleeping  and  singing  jolly  cho- 
ruses. 

They  arrived  at  Gravesend  at  six,  when  they  washed 
their  faces  and  hands,  and  had  their  wigs  powdered. 
Then  they  sallied  forth  for  Rochester  on  foot,  and  drank 
by  the  way  three  pots  of  ale.  At  one  o'clock  they  went 
to  dinner  with  excellent  port,  and  a  quantity  more  beer, 
and  afterwards  Hogarth  and  Scott  played  at  hopscotch 
in  the  town  hall.  It  would  appear  that  they  slept  most 
of  them  in  one  room,  and  the  chronicler  of  the  party 
describes  them  all  as  waking  at  seven  o'clock,  and  telling 
each  other  their  dreams.  You  have  rough  sketches  by 
Hogarth  of  the  incidents  of  this  holiday  excursion.  The 
sturdy  little  painter  is  seen  sprawling  over  a  plank  to  a 
boat  at  Gravesend;  the  whole  company  are  represented 
in  one  design,  in  a  fisherman's  room,  where  they  had  all 
passed  the  night.  One  gentleman  in  a  nightcap  is  shav- 
ing himself;  another  is  being  shaved  by  the  fisherman; 
a  third,  with  a  handkerchief  over  his  bald  pate,  is  taking 
his  breakfast;  and  Hogarth  is  sketching  the  whole  scene. 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  335 

They  describe  at  night  how  they  returned  to  their  quar- 
ters, drank  to  their  friends,  as  usual,  emptied  several  cans 
of  good  flip,  all  singing  merrily. 

It  is  a  jolly  party  of  tradesmen  engaged  at  high  jinks. 
These  were  the  manners  and  pleasures  of  Hogarth,  of  his 
time  very  likely,  of  men  not  very  refined,  but  honest  and 
merry.  It  is  a  brave  London  citizen,  with  John  Bull 
habits,  prejudices,  and  pleasures.^ 

Of  Smollet's  associates  and  manner  of  life  the 
author  of  the  admirable  "Humphrey  Clinker"  has 
given  us  an  interesting  account,  in  that  most  amusing 
of  novels.^ 

* "  Dr.  Johnson  made  four  lines  once,  on  the  death  of  poor  Hogarth,  which 
were  equally  true  and  pleasing;  I  know  not  why  Garrick's  were  preferred  to 
them:— 

" '  The  hand  of  him  here  torpid  lies, 
That  drew  th'  essential  forms  of  grace; 
Here,  closed  in  death,  th'  attentive  eyes, 
That  saw  the  manners  in  the  face.' 

"  Mr.  Hogarth,  among  the  variety  of  kindnesses  shown  to  me  when  I  was 
too  young  to  have  a  proper  sense  of  them,  was  used  to  be  very  earnest  that  I 
should  obtain  the  acquaintance,  and  if  possible  the  friendship,  of  Dr.  John- 
son; whose  conversation  was,  to  the  talk  of  other  men,  like  Titian's  painting 
compared  to  Hudson's,  he  said :  '  but  don't  you  tell  people  now  that  I  say 
so,'  continued  he;  'for  the  connoisseurs  and  I  are  at  war,  you  know;  and 
because  I  hate  them,  they  think  I  hate  Titia/i— and  let  them!'  ...  Of 
Dr.  Johnson,  when  my  father  and  he  were  talking  about  him  one  day,  '  That 
man'  says  Hogarth,  'is  not  contented  with  believing  the  Bible;  but  he  fairly 
resolves,'  I  think,  to  believe  nothing  but  tlie  Bible.  Johnson,'  added  he, 
'  though  so  wise  a  fellow,  is  more  like  King  David  than  King  Solomon,  for 
he  says  in  his  haste,  All  men  are  liars.'" — Mrs.  Piozzi. 

Hogarth  died  on  the  26th  of  October,  1764.  The  day  before  his  death,  he 
was  removed  from  his  villa  at  Chiswick  to  Leicester  Fields,  "  in  a  very  weak 
condition,  yet  remarkably  cheerful."  He  had  just  received  an  agreeable 
letter  from'  Franklin.     He  lies  buried  at  Chiswick. 

° "  To  Sir  Watkix  Phillips,  Bart.,  of  Jesus  College,  Oxon. 

"  Dear  Phillips,— In  my  last,  I  mentioned  my  having  spent  an  evening  with 
a  society  of  authors,  who  seemed  to  be  jealous  and  afraid  of  one  another. 
My  uncie  was  not  at  all  surprised  to  hear  me  say  I  was  disappointed  in  their 
conversation.  '  A  man  may  be  very  entertaining  and  instructive  upon  paper,' 
said  he  '  and  exceedingly  dull  in  common  discourse.  I  have  observed,  that 
those  who  shine  most  in  private  company  are  but  secondary  stars  in  the  con- 
stellation of  genius.  A  small  stock  of  ideas  is  more  easily  managed,  and 
sooner  displayed,  than  a  great  quantity  crowded  together.  There  is  very 
seldom  anything  extraordinary  in  the  appearance  and  address  of  a  good 
writer;  whereas  a  dull  author  generally  distinguishes  himself  by  some  oddity 


336  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

I  have  no  doubt  that  this  picture  by  Smollett  is  as 
faithful  a  one  as  any  from  the  pencil  of  his  kindred 
humourist,  Hogarth. 

or  extravagance.  For  this  reason  I  fancy  that  an  assembly  of  grubs  must 
be  very  diverting.' 

"  My  curiosity  being  excited  by  this  hint,  I  consulted  my  friend  Dick  Ivy, 
who  undertook  to  gratify  it  the  very  next  day,  which  was  Sunday  last.     He 

carried  me  to  dine  with  S ,  whom  you   a"nd   1   have  long  known   by  his 

writings.  He  lives  in  the  skirts  of  the  town ;  and  every  Sunday  his  house  is 
open  to  all  unfortunate  brothers  of  the  quill,  whom  he  treats  with  beef, 
pudding,  and  potatoes,  port,  punch,  and  Calvert's  entire  butt  beer.  He  has 
fixed  upon  the  first  day  of  the  week  for  the  exercise  of  his  hospitality,  be- 
cause some  of  his  guests  could  not  enjoy  it  on  any  other,  for  reasons  that  I 
need  not  explain.  I  was  civilly  received  in  a  plain,  yet  decent  habitation, 
which  opened  backwards  into  a  very  pleasant  garden,  kept  in  excellent  order; 
and,  indeed,  I  saw  none  of  the  outward  signs  of  authorship  either  in  the 
house  or  the  landlord,  who  is  one  of  those  few  writers  of  the  age  that  stand 
upon  their  own  foundation,  without  patronage,  and  above  dependence.  If 
there  was  nothing  characteristic  in  the  entertainer,  the  company  made  ample 
amends  for  his  want  of  singularity. 

"  At  two  in  the  afternoon,  I  found  myself  one  of  ten  messmates  seated  at 
table;  and  I  question  if  the  whole  kingdom  could  produce  such  another  as- 
semblage of  originals.  Among  their  peculiarities,  I  do  not  mention  those  of 
dress,  which  may  be  purely  accidental.  What  struck  me  were  oddities  orig- 
inally produced"  by  affectation,  and  afterwards  confirmed  by  habit.  One  of 
them"  wore  spectacles  at  dinner,  and  another  his  hat  flapped;  though  (as  Ivy 
told  me)  the  first  was  noted  for  having  a  seaman's  eye  when  a  bailiff  was  in 
the  wind;  and  the  other  was  never  known  to  labour  under  any  weakness  or 
defect  of  vision,  except  about  five  years  ago,  when  he  was  complimented 
with  a  couple  of  black  eyes  by  a  player,  with  whom  he  had  quarrelled  in  his 
drinJi.  A  third  wore  a  laced'  stocking,  and  made  use  of  crutches,  because, 
once  in  his  life,  he  had  been  laid  up  with  a  broken  leg,  though  no  man  could 
leap  over  a  stick  with  more  agility.  A  fourth  had  contracted  such  an  an- 
tipathy to  the  country,  that  he  insisted  upon  sitting  with  his  back  towards  the 
window  that  looked  into  the  garden;  and  when  a  dish  of  cauliflower  was  set 
upon  the  table,  he  snufi'ed  up  volatile  salts  to  keep  him  from  fainting;  yet 
this  delicate  person  was  the  son  of  a  cottager,  born  under  a  hedge,  and  had 
many  years  run  wild  among  asses  on  a  common.  A  fifth  aff^ected  distraction: 
when  spoke  to,  he  always  answered  from  the  purpose.  Sometimes  he  sud- 
denly started  up,  and  rapped  out  a  dreadful  oath;  sometimes  he  burst  out  a 
laug"hing;  then  he  folded  his  arms,  and  sighed;  and  then  he  hissed  like  fifty 
serpents. 

"At  first,  I  really  thought  he  was  mad;  and,  as  he  sat  near  me,  began  to 
be  under  some  apprehensions  for  my  own  safety;  when  our  landlord,  per- 
ceiving me  alarmed,  assured  me  aloud  tliat  I  had  nothing  to  fear.  '  The 
gentleman,'  said  he,  '  is  trying  to  act  a  part  for  which  he  is  by  no  means 
qualified:  if  he  had  all  the" inclination  in  tlie  world,  it  is  not  in  his  power  to 
be  mad;  his  si)irits  are  too  flat  to  be  kindled  into  phrenzy.'  "Tis  no  bad 
p-p-jniff",  how-owever,'  observed  a  person  in  a  tarnished  laced  coat:  '  aflf- 
flfected  m-madncss  w-ill  p-pass  for  w-wit  w-with  nine-nineteen  out  of 
t-twcnty.'  'And  affected  stuttering  for  humour,'  replied  our  landlord; 
'though,  God  knows!  tliere  is  no  affinity  between  them.'  It  seems  this  wag, 
after  having  made  some  abortive  attempts  in  plain  speaking,  had  recourse  to 
this  defect,  by  means  of  which  he  frequently  extorted  the  laugh  of  the  com- 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  337 

We  have  before  us,  and  painted  by  his  own  hand, 
Tobias  Smollett,  the  manly,  kindly,  honest,  and  iras- 
cible; worn  and  battered,  but  still  brave  and  full  of 

pany,  without  the  least  expense  of  genius;  and  that  imperfection,  which  he 
had  at  first  counterfeited,  was  now  become  so  habitual,  that  he  could  not  lay 
it  aside. 

"  A  certain  winking  genius,  who  wore  yellow  gloves  at  dinner,  had,  on 

his  first  introduction,  taken  such  offence  at   S ,  because  he  looked  and 

talked,  and  ate  and  drank,  like  any  other  man,  that  he  spoke  contemptuously 
of  his  understanding  ever  after,  and  never  would  repeat  his  visit,  until  he 
had  exhibited   the   following  proof  of  his   caprice.     Wat  Wyvil,  the  poet, 

having  made  some  unsuccessful  advances  towards  an  intimacy  with  S , 

at  last  gave  him  to  understand,  by  a  third  person,  that  he  had  written  a 
poem  in  his  praise,  and  a  satire  against  his  person:  that  if  he  would  admit 
him  to  his  house,  the  first  should  be  immediately  sent  to  press;  but  that  if 
he  persisted  in  declining  his  friendship,  he  would  publish  the  satire  without 

delay.     S replied,  that  he  looked  upon  Wyvil's  panegyric  as,  in  effect, 

a  species  of  infamy,  and  would  resent  it  accordingly  with  a  good  cudgel; 
but  if  he  published  the  satire,  he  might  deserve  his  compassion,  and  had 
nothing  to  fear  from  his  revenge.     Wyvil  having  considered  the  alternative, 

resolved  to  mortify  S by  printing  the  panegyric,  for  which  he  received 

a  sound  drubbing.  Then  he  swore  the  peace  against  the  aggressor,  who,  in 
order  to  avoid  a  prosecution  at  law,  admitted  him  to  his  good  graces.     It 

was  the  singularity  in  S 's  conduct  on  this  occasion,  that  reconciled  him 

to  the  yellow-gloved  philosopher,  who  owned  he  had  some  genius;  and  from 
that  period  cultivated  his  acquaintance. 

"Curious  to  know  upon  what  subjects  the  several  talents  of  my  fellow- 
guests  were  employed,  I  applied  to  my  communicative  friend  Dick  Ivy,  who 
gave  me  to  understand  that  most  of  them  were,  or  had  been,  understrappers, 
or  journeymen,  to  more  creditable  authors,  for  whom  they  translated,  col- 
lated, and  compiled,  in  the  business  of  bookmaking;  and  that  all  of  them 
had,  at  different  times,  laboured  in  the  service  of  our  landlord,  though  they 
had  now  set  up  for  themselves  in  various  departments  of  literature.  Not 
only  their  talents,  but  also  their  nations  and  dialects,  were  so  various,  that 
our  conversation  resembled  the  confusion  of  tongues  at  Babel.  We  had  the 
Irish  brogue,  the  Scotch  accent,  and  foreign  idiom,  twanged  off  by  the  most 
discordant  vociferation;  for  as  they  all  spoke  together,  no  man  had  any 
chance  to  be  heard,  unless  he  could  bawl  louder  than  his  fellows.  It  must 
be  owned,  however,  there  was  nothing  pedantic  in  their  discourse;  they  care- 
fully avoided  all  learned  disquisitions,  and  endeavoured  to  be  facetious:  nor 
did  their  endeavours  always  miscarry;  some  droll  repartee  passed,  and  much 
laughter  was  excited;  and  if  any  individual  lost  his  temper  so  far  as  to 
transgress  the  bounds  of  decorum,  he  was  effectually  checked  by  the  master 
of  the  feast,  who  exerted  a  sort  of  paternal  authority  over  this  irritable 
tribe. 

"The  most  learned  philosopher  of  the  whole  collection,  who  had  been  ex- 
pelled the  university  for  atheism,  has  made  great  progress  in  a  refutation  of 
Lord  Bolingbroke's  metaphysical  works,  which  is  said  to  be  equally  ingenious 
and  orthodox:  but,  in  the  meantime,  he  has  been  presented  to  the  grand  jury 
as  a  public  nuisance  for  having  blasphemed  in  an  alehouse  on  the  Lord's-day. 
The  Scotchman  gives  lectures  on  the  pronunciation  of  the  English  language, 
which  he  is  now  publishing  by  subscription. 

"  The  Irishman  is  a  political  writer,  and  goes  by  the  name  of  My  Lord 
Potatoe.     He  wrote  a  pamphlet  in  vindication  of  a  Minister,  hoping  his  zeal 


338  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

heart,  after  a  long  struggle  against  a  hard  fortune.  His 
brain  had  been  busied  with  a  hundred  different  schemes ; 

would  be  rewarded  with  some  place  or  pension;  but  finding  himself  neglected 
in  that  quarter,  he  whispered  about  that  the  pamphlet  was  written  by  the 
Minister  himself,  and  he  published  an  answer  to  his  own  production.  In  this 
he  addressed  the  author  under  the  title  of  'your  lordship,'  with  such  sol- 
emnity, that  the  public  swallowed  the  deceit,  and  bought  up  the  whole  im- 
pression. The  wise  politicians  of  the  metropolis  declared  they  were  both 
masterly  performances,  and  chuckled  over  the  flimsy  reveries  of  an  ignorant 
garretteer,  as  the  profound  speculations  of  a  veteran  statesman,  acquainted 
with  all  the  secrets  of  the  cabinet.  The  imposture  was  detected  in  the  sequel, 
and  our  Hibernian  pamphleteer  retains  no  part  of  his  assumed  importance 
but  the  bare  title  of  '  my  lord,'  and  the  upper  part  of  the  table  at  the 
potatoe-ordinary  in  Shoe  Lane. 

"  Opposite  to  me  sat  a  Piedmontese,  who  had  obliged  the  public  with  a 
humourous  satire,  entitled  'The  Balance  of  the  English  Poets;'  a  perform- 
ance which  evinced  the  great  modesty  and  taste  of  the  author,  and,  in  par- 
ticular, his  intimacy  with  the  elegancies  of  the  English  language.  The  sage, 
who  laboured  under  the  dypo^o/3/a,  or,  '  horror  of  green  fields,'  had  just 
finished  a  treatise  on  practical  agriculture,  though,  in  fact,  he  had  never  seen 
corn  growing  in  his  life,  and  was  so  ignorant  of  grain,  that  our  entertainer, 
in  the  face  of  the  whole  company,  made  him  own  that  a  plate  of  hominy  was 
the  best  rice-pudding  he  had  ever  eat. 

"  The  stutterer  had  almost  finished  his  travels  through  Europe  and  part  of 
Asia,  without  ever  budging  beyond  the  liberties  of  the  King's  Bench,  except 
in  term-time  with  a  tipstaff  for  his  companion:  and  as  for  little  Tim  Crop- 
dale,  the  most  facetious  member  of  the  whole  society,  he  had  happily  wound 
up  the  catastrophe  of  a  virgin  tragedy,  from  the  exhibition  of  which  he 
promised  himself  a  large  fund  of  profit  and  reputation.  Tim  had  made  shift 
to  live  many  j^ears  by  writing  novels,  at  the  rate  of  five  pounds  a  volume; 
but  that  branch  of  business  is  now  engrossed  by  female  authors,  who  publish 
merely  for  the  propagation  of  virtue,  with  so  much  case,  and  spirit,  and 
delicacy,  and  knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  and  all  in  the  serene  tranquil- 
lity of  high  life,  that  the  reader  is  not  only  enchanted  by  their  genius,  but 
reformed  by  their  morality. 

"  After  dinner,  we  adjourned  into  the  garden,  where  I  observed  Mr.  S ■ 

give  a  short  separate  audience  to  every  individual  in  a  small  remote  filbert- 
walk,  from  whence  most  of  them  dropped  off  one  after  another,  without 
further  ceremony." 

Smollett's  house  was  in  Lawrence  Lane,  Chelsea,  and  is  now  destroyed. 
See  Handbook  of  London,  p.  115. 

"  The  person  of  Smollett  was  eminently  handsome,  his  features  prepos- 
sessing, and,  by  the  joint  testimony  of  all  his  surviving  friends,  his  conversa- 
tion, in  the  highest  degree,  instructive  and  amusing.  Of  his  disposition,  those 
who  have  read  his  works  (and  who  has  not?)  may  form  a  very  accurate  es- 
timate; for  in  each  of  them  he  has  presented,  and  sometimes,  under  various 
points  of  view,  the  lending  features  of  his  own  character  without  disguising 
the  most  unfavourable  of  tiiem When  unscduced  by  his  sa- 
tirical propensities,  he  was  kind,  generous,  and  humane  to  others;  bold,  up- 
right, and  independent  in  his  own  character;  stooped  to  no  patron,  sued  for 
no  favour,  but  honestly  and  honourably  maintained  himself  on  his  literary 

labours He  was  a  doating  father,  and  an  affectionate  husband; 

and  the  warm  zeal  with  which  iiis  memory  was  cherished  by  his  surviving 
friends  showed  clearly  the  reliance  which  they  placed  upon  his  regard."— 
giu  Walter  Scott, 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  339 

he  had  been  reviewer  and  historian,  critic,  medical  writer, 
poet,  pamphleteer.  He  had  fought  endless  literary  bat- 
tles; and  braved  and  wielded  for  years  the  cudgels  of 
controversy.  It  was  a  hard  and  savage  fight  in  those 
days,  and  a  niggard  pay.  He  was  oppressed  by  illness, 
age,  narrow  fortune ;  but  his  spirit  was  still  resolute,  and 
his  courage  steady;  the  battle  over,  he  could  do  justice  to 
the  enemy  with  whom  he  had  been  so  fiercely  engaged, 
and  give  a  not  unfriendly  grasp  to  the  hand  that  had 
mauled  him.  He  is  like  one  of  those  Scotch  cadets,  of 
whom  history  gives  us  so  many  examples,  and  whom, 
with  a  national  fidelity,  the  great  Scotch  novelist  has 
painted  so  charmingly.     Of  gentle  birth  ^  and  narrow 

^Smollett  of  Bonhill,  in  Dumbartonshire.  Arms,  azure,  a  bend,  or,  be- 
a  lion  rampant,  ppr.,  holding  in  his  paw  a  banner,  argent,  and  a  bugle-horn, 
also  ppr.    Crest,  an  oak-tree,  ppr.  Motto,  Viresco. 

Smollett's  father,  Archibald,  was  the  fourth  son  of  Sir  James  Smollett  of 
Bonhill,  a  Scotch  Judge  and  Member  of  Parliament,  and  one  of  the  cdmmis- 
sioners  for  framing  the  Union  with  England.  Archibald  married,  without 
the  old  gentleman's  consent,  and  died  early,  leaving  his  children  dependent 
on  their  grandfather.  Tobias,  the  second  son,  was  born  in  1731,  in  the  old 
house  of  Dalquharn  in  the  valley  of  Leven;  and  all  his  life  loved  and  ad- 
mired that  valley  and  Loch  Lomond  beyond  all  the  valleys  and  lakes  in 
Europe.  He  learned  the  "  rudiments  "  at  Dumbarton  Grammar  School,  and 
studied  at  Glasgow. 

But  when  he  was  only  ten,  his  grandfather  died,  and  left  him  without  pro- 
vision (figuring  as  the  old  judge  in  "  Roderick  Random"  in  consequence,  ac- 
cording to  Sir  Walter).  Tobias,  armed  with  the  "Regicide,  a  Tragedy"— a 
provision  precisely  similar  to  that  with  which  Dr.  Johnson  had  started,  just 
before— came  up  to  London.  The  "  Regicide  "  came  to  no  good,  though  at 
first  patronized  by  Lord  Lyttelton  ("one  of  those  little  fellows  who  are 
sometimes  called  great  men,"  Smollett  says);  and  Smollett  embarked  as 
"  surgeon's  mate "  on  board  a  line-of-battle  ship,  and  served  in  the  Cartha- 
gena  expedition,  in  1741.  He  left  the  service  in  the  West  Indies,  and  after 
residing  some  time  in  Jamaica,  returned  to  England  in  1746. 

He  was  now  unsuccessful  as  a  physician,  to  begin  with;  published  the 
satires,  "Advice"  and  "Reproof,"  without  any  luck;  and  (1747)  married  the 
"  beautiful  and  accomplished  Miss  Lascelles." 

In  1748  he  brought  out  his  "  Roderick  Random,"  which  at  once  made  a 
"  hit."  The  subsequent  events  of  his  life  may  be  presented,  chronologically, 
in  a  bird's-eye  view:— 

1750.  Made  a  tour  to  Paris,  where  he  chiefly  wrote  "  Peregrine  Pickle." 

1751.  Published  "  Peregrine  Pickle." 

1753.  Published  "  Adventures  of  Ferdinand  Count  Fathom." 

1755.  Published  version  of  "  Don  Quixote." 

1756.  Began  the  "  Critical  Review." 

1758.    Published  his  "  History  of  England." 


340  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

means,  going  out  from  his  northern  home  to  win  his  for- 
tune in  the  world,  and  to  fight  his  way,  armed  with  cour- 
age, hunger,  and  keen  wits.  His  crest  is  a  shattered 
oak-tree,  with  green  leaves  yet  springing  from  it.  On 
his  ancient  coat-of-arms  there  is  a  lion  and  a  horn;  this 
shield  of  his  was  battered  and  dinted  in  a  hundred  fights 
and  brawls,^  through  which  the  stout  Scotchman  bore  it 
courageously.    You  see  somehow  that  he  is  a  gentleman, 

1763—1766.  Travelling  in  France  and  Italy;  published  his  "Travels." 

1769.  Published  "  Adventures  of  an  Atom." 

1770.  Set  out  for  Italy;  died  at  Leghorn  21st  of  Oct.,  1771,  in  the  fifty- 
first  year  of  his  age. 

'  A  good  specimen  of  the  old  "  slashing  "  style  of  writing  is  presented  by 
the  paragraph  on  Admiral  Knowles,  which  subjected  Smollett  to  prosecution 
and  imprisonment.  The  admiral's  defence  on  the  occasion  of  the  failure  of 
the  Rochfort  expedition  came  to  be  examined  before  the  tribunal  of  the 
"  Critical  Review." 

"  He  is,"  said  our  author,  "  an  admiral  without  conduct,  an  engineer  with- 
out knowledge,  an  oflBcer  without  resolution,  and  a  man  without  veracity ! " 

Three  months'  imprisonment  in  the  King's  Bench  avenged  this  stinging 
paragraph. 

But  the  "  Critical "  was  to  Smollett  a  perpetual  fountain  of  "  hot  water." 
Among  less  important  controversies  may  be  mentioned  that  with  Grainger, 
the  translator  of  "  TibuUus."  Grainger  replied  in  a  pamphlet;  and  in  the 
next  number  of  the  "  Review "  we  find  him  threatened  with  "  castigation," 
as  an  "  owl  that  has  broken  from  his  mew ! " 

In  Dr.  Moore's  biography  of  him  is  a  pleasant  anecdote.  After  publishing 
the  "Don  Quixote,"  he  returned  to  Scotland  to  pay  a  visit  to  his  mother:— 

"  On  Smollett's  arrival,  he  was  introduced  to  his  mother  with  the  conni- 
vance of  Mrs.  Telfer  (her  daughter),  as  a  gentleman  from  the  West  Indies, 
who  was  intimately  acquainted  with  her  son.  The  better  to  support  his  as- 
sumed character,  he  endeavoured  to  preserve  a  serious  countenance,  ap- 
proaching to  a  frown;  but  while  his  mother's  eyes  were  riveted  on  his  coun- 
tenance, he  could  not  refrain  from  smiling:  she  immediately  sprung  from 
her  chair,  and  throwing  her  arms  round  his  neck,  exclaimed,  '  Ah,  my  son ! 
my  son !  I  have  found  you  at  last ! ' 

"  She  afterwards  told  him,  that  if  he  had  kept  his  austere  looks  and  con- 
tinued to  gloom,  he  might  have  escaped  detection  some  time  longer,  but 
'  your  old  roguish  smile,'  added  she,  '  betrayed  you  at  once.' " 

"  Shortly  after  the  publication  of  '  The  Adventures  of  an  Atom,'  disease 
again  attacked  Smollett  with  redoubled  violence.  Attempts  being  vainly 
made  to  obtain  for  him  the  office  of  Consul  in  some  part  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean, he  was  compelled  to  seek  a  warmer  climate,  without  better  means  of 
provision  than  his  own  precarious  finances  could  afford.  The  kindness  of 
his  distinguished  friend  and  countryman.  Dr.  Armstrong  (then  abroad), 
procured  for  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Smollett  a  house  at  Monte  Nero,  a  village  situ- 
ated on  the  side  of  a  mountain  overlooking  the  sea,  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Leghorn,  a  romantic  and  salutary  abode,  where  he  prepared  for  the  press, 
the  last,  and  like  music  '  sweetest  in  the  close,'  the  most  pleasing  of  his  com- 
positions, '  The  Expedition  of  Humphrey  Clinker.'  This  delightful  work 
was  published  in  1771."— Sir  Walter  bcorr. 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  341 

through  all  his  battling  and  struggling,  his  poverty,  his 
hard-fought  successes,  and  his  defeats.  His  novels  are 
recollections  of  his  own  adventures;  his  characters 
drawn,  as  I  should  think,  from  personages  with  whom 
he  became  acquainted  in  his  own  career  of  life.  Strange 
companions  he  must  have  had;  queer  acquaintances  he 
made  in  the  Glasgow  College— in  the  country  apothe- 
cary's shop;  in  the  gun-room  of  the  man-of-war  where 
he  served  as  surgeon;  and  in  the  hard  life  on  shore, 
where  the  sturdy  adventurer  struggled  for  fortune.  He 
did  not  invent  much,  as  I  fancy,  but  had  the  keenest 
perceptive  faculty,  and  described  what  he  saw  with  won- 
derful relish  and  delightful  broad  humour.  I  think 
Uncle  Bowling,  in  "Roderick  Random,"  is  as  good  a 
character  as  Squire  Western  himself:  and  Mr.  Morgan, 
the  Welsh  apothecary,  is  as  pleasant  as  Dr.  Caius. 
What  man  who  has  made  his  inestimable  acquaintance 
—what  novel-reader  who  loves  Don  Quixote  and  Major 
Dalgetty— will  refuse  his  most  cordial  acknowledg- 
ments to  the  admirable  Lieutenant  Lismahago.  The 
novel  of  "  Humphrey  Clinker  "  is,  I  do  think,  the  most 
laughable  story  that  has  ever  been  written  since  the 
goodly  art  of  novel-writing  began.  Winifred  Jenkins 
and  Tabitha  Bramble  must  keep  Englishmen  on  the 
grin  for  ages  yet  to  come;  and  in  their  letters  and  the 
story  of  their  loves  there  is  a  perpetual  fount  of  spark- 
ling laughter,  as  inexhaustible  as  Bladud's  well. 

Fielding,  too,  has  described,  though  with  a  greater 
hand,  the  characters  and  scenes  which  he  knew  and  saw. 
He  had  more  than  ordinary  opportunities  for  becoming 
acquainted  with  life.  His  family  and  education,  first— 
his  fortunes  and  misfortunes  afterwards,  brought  him 


342  ENGLISH    HUMOURISTS 

into  the  society  of  every  rank  and  condition  of  man.  He 
is  himself  the  hero  of  his  books:  he  is  wild  Tom  Jones, 
he  is  wild  Captain  Booth ;  less  wild,  I  am  glad  to  think, 
than  his  predecessor:  at  least  heartily  conscious  of  de- 
merit, and  anxious  to  amend. 

When  Fielding  first  came  upon  the  town  in  1727,  the 
recollection  of  the  great  wits  was  still  fresh  in  the  coffee- 
houses and  assemblies,  and  the  judges  there  declared 
that  young  Harry  Fielding  had  more  spirits  and  wit 
than  Congreve  or  any  of  his  brilliant  successors.  His 
figure  was  tall  and  stalwart;  his  face  handsome,  manly, 
and  noble-looking ;  to  the  very  last  days  of  his  life  he  re- 
tained a  grandeur  of  air,  and,  although  worn  down  by 
disease,  his  aspect  and  presence  imposed  respect  upon 
the  people  round  about  him. 

A  dispute  took  place  between  Mr.  Fielding  and  the 
captain  ^  of  the  ship  in  which  he  was  making  his  last 
voyage,  and  Fielding  relates  how  the  man  finally  went 
down  on  his  knees  and  begged  his  passenger's  pardon. 
He  was  living  up  to  the  last  days  of  his  life,  and  his 
spirit  never  gave  in.  His  vital  power  must  have  been 
immensely  strong.     Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu^ 

*  The  dispute  with  the  captain  arose  from  the  wish  of  that  functionary  to 
intrude  on  his  right  to  his  cabin,  for  which  he  had  paid  thirty  pounds.  After 
recounting  tlie  circumstances  of  the  apology,  he  characteristically  adds:  — 

"  And  here,  that  I  may  not  be  thought  the  sly  trumpeter  of  my  own 
praises,  I  do  utterly  disclaim  all  praise  on  the  occasion.  Neither  did  the 
greatness  of  my  mind  dictate,  nor  the  force  of  my  Christianity  exact  this 
forgiveness.  To  speak  truth,  I  forgave  him  from  a  motive  which  would 
make  men  much  more  forgiving,  if  they  were  much  wiser  than  they  are:  be- 
cause it  was  convenient  for  me  so  to  do." 

'Lady  Mary  was  his,  second-cousin— their  respective  grandfathers  being 
sons  of  George  Fielding,  Earl  of  Desmond,  son  of  William,  Earl  of  Den- 
bigh. 

In  a  letter  dated  just  a  week  before  his  death,  she  says— 

"  H.  Fielding  has  given  a  true  picture  of  himself  and  his  first  wife  in  the 
characters  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Booth,  some  compliments  to  liis  own  figure  ex- 
cepted; and  I  am  persuaded,  several  of  the  incidents  he  mentions  are  real 
matters  of  fact.  I  wonder  he  does  not  perceive  Tom  Jones  and  Mr.  Booth 
are  sorry  scoundrels Fielding  has  really  a  fund  of  true  humour, 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  343 

prettily  characterizes  Fielding  and  this  caj^acity  for 
happiness  which  he  possessed,  in  a  little  notice  of  his 
death,  when  she  compares  him  to  Steele,  who  was  as  im- 
provident and  as  happy  as  he  was,  and  says  that  both 
should  have  gone  on  living  for  ever.  One  can  fancy  the 
eagerness  and  gusto  with  which  a  man  of  Fielding's 
frame,  with  his  vast  health  and  robust  appetite,  his  ar- 
dent spirits,  his  joyful  humour,  and  his  keen  and  hearty 
relish  for  life,  must  have  seized  and  drunk  that  cup  of 
pleasure  which  the  town  offered  to  him.  Can  any  of  my 
hearers  remember  the  youthful  feats  of  a  college  break- 
fast—the meats  devoured  and  the  cups  quaffed  in  that 
Homeric  feast?  I  can  call  to  mind  some  of  the  heroes 
of  those  youthful  banquets,  and  fancy  young  Fielding 
from  Leyden  rushing  upon  the  feast,  with  his  great 
laugh  and  immense  healthy  young  appetite,  eager  and 
vigorous  to  enjoy.  The  young  man's  wit  and  manners 
made  him  friends  everywhere:  he  lived  with  the  grand 
Man's  society  of  those  days ;  he  was  courted  by  peers  and 
men  of  wealth  and  fashion.  As  he  had  a  paternal  allow- 
ance from  his  father.  General  Fielding,  which,  to  use 
Henry's  own  phrase,  any  man  might  pay  who  would; 
as  he  liked  good  wine,  good  clothes,  and  good  company, 
which  are  all  expensive  articles  to  purchase,  Harry 
Fielding  began  to  run  into  debt,  and  borrow  money  in 
that   easy   manner   in   which    Captain   Booth   borrows 

and  was  to  be  pitied  at  his  first  entrance  into  the  world,  having  no  choice, 
as  he  said  himself,  but  to  be  a  hackney  writer  or  a  hackney  coachman. 
His  genius  deserved  a  better  fate;  but  I  cannot  help  blaming  that  continued 
indiscretion,  to  give  it  the  softest  name,  that  has  run  through  his  life,  and  I 
am  afraid  still  remains Since  I  was  born  no  original  has  ap- 
peared excepting  Congreve,  and  Fielding,  who  would,  I  believe,  have  ap- 
proached nearer  to  his  excellences,  if  not  forced  by  his  necessities  to  publish 
without  correction,  and  throw  many  productions  into  the  world  he  would 
have  thrown  into  the  fire,  if  meat  could  have  been  got  without  money,  or 

money  without  scribbling I   am  sorry  not  to  see  any  more  of 

Peregrine  Pickle's  performances;  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  his  name."— 
Letters  and  Works  (Lord  Whaencliffe's  Ed.),  vol.  iii.  p.  93,  94. 


344  ENGLISH    HUMOURISTS 

money  in  the  novel:  was  in  nowise  particular  in 
accepting  a  few  pieces  from  the  purses  of  his  rich 
friends,  and  bore  down  upon  more  than  one  of  them, 
as  Walpole  tells  us  only  too  truly,  for  a  dinner  or  a 
guinea.  To  supply  himself  with  the  latter,  he  began 
to  write  theatrical  pieces,  having  already,  no  doubt,  a 
considerable  acquaintance  amongst  the  Oldfields  and 
Bracegirdles  behind  the  scenes.  He  laughed  at  these 
pieces  and  scorned  them.  When  the  audience  upon  one 
occasion  began  to  hiss  a  scene  which  he  was  too  lazy  to 
correct,  and  regarding  which,  when  Garrick  remon- 
strated with  him,  he  said  that  the  public  was  too  stupid 
to  find  out  the  badness  of  his  work:  when  the  audience 
began  to  hiss.  Fielding  said,  with  characteristic  coolness 
—"They  have  found  it  out,  have  they?"  He  did  not 
prepare  his  novels  in  this  way,  and  with  a  very  different 
care  and  interest  laid  the  foundations  and  built  up  the 
edifices  of  his  future  fame. 

Time  and  shower  have  very  little  damaged  those. 
The  fashion  and  ornaments  are,  perhaps,  of  the  archi- 
tecture of  that  age ;  but  the  buildings  remain  strong  and 
lofty,  and  of  admirable  proportions — masterpieces  of 
genius  and  monuments  of  workmanlike  skill. 

I  cannot  offer  or  hope  to  make  a  hero  of  Harry  Field- 
ing. Why  hide  his  faults  ?  Why  conceal  his  weaknesses 
in  a  cloud  of  periphrases?  Why  not  show  him,  like  him 
as  he  is,  not  robed  in  a  marble  toga,  and  draped  and 
polished  in  an  heroic  attitude,  but  with  inked  ruffles, 
and  claret-stains  on  his  tarnished  laced  coat,  and  on  his 
manly  face  the  marks  of  good-fellowship,  of  illness,  of 
kindness,  of  care,  and  wine.  Stained  as  you  see  him, 
and  worn  by  care  and  dissipation,  that  man  retains  some 
of  the  most  precious  and  splendid  human  qualities  and 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  345 

endowments.  He  has  an  admirable  natural  love  of 
truth,  the  keenest  instinctive  antipathy  to  hypocrisy,  the 
happiest  satirical  gift  of  laughing  it  to  scorn.  His  wit 
is  wonderfully  wise  and  detective;  it  flashes  upon  a 
rogue  and  lightens  up  a  rascal  like  a  policeman's  lantern. 
He  is  one  of  the  manliest  and  kindliest  of  human  beings : 
in  the  midst  of  all  his  imperfections,  he  respects  female 
innocence  and  infantine  tenderness,  as  you  would  sup- 
pose such  a  great-hearted,  courageous  soul  would  re- 
spect and  care  for  them.  He  could  not  be  so  brave, 
generous,  truth-telling  as  he  is,  were  he  not  infinitely 
merciful,  pitiful,  and  tender.  He  will  give  any  man 
his  purse— he  can't  help  kindness  and  profusion.  He 
may  have  low  tastes,  but  not  a  mean  mind;  he  admires 
with  all  his  heart  good  and  virtuous  men,  stoops  to  no 
flattery,  bears  no  rancour,  disdains  all  disloyal  arts,  does 
his  public  duty  uprightly,  is  fondly  loved  by  his  family, 
and  dies  at  his  work.^ 

If  that  theory  be— and  I  have  no  doubt  it  is— the 
right  and  safe  one,  that  human  nature  is  always  pleased 
with  the  spectacle  of  innocence  rescued  by  fidelity,  pur- 
ity, and  courage ;  I  suppose  that  of  the  heroes  of  Field- 
ing's three  novels,  we  should  like  honest  Joseph 
Andrews  the  best,  and  Captain  Booth  the  second,  and 
Tom  Jones  the  third.^ 

Joseph   Andrews,   though   he   wears   Lady   Booby's 

'  He  sailed  for  Lisbon,  from  Gravesend,  on  Sunday  morning,  June  30th, 
1734;  and  began  "The  Journal  of  a  Voyage"  during  the  passage.  He  died 
at  Lisbon,  in  the  beginning  of  October  of  the  same  year.  He  lies  buried 
there,  in  the  English  Protestant  churchyard,  near  the  Estrella  Church,  with 
this  inscription  over  him:— 

"  HENRICUS    FIELDING. 

LUGET    BRITAKKIA    OREMIO    NON    DATUM 

rOVERE    KATUM." 

»  Fielding  himself  is  said  by  Dr.  Warton  to  have  preferred  "  Joseph  An- 
drews "  to  his  other  writings. 


346  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

cast-ofF  livery,  is,  I  think,  to  the  full  as  polite  as  Tom 
Jones  in  his  fustian-suit,  or  Captain  Booth  in  regimen- 
tals. He  has,  like  those  heroes,  large  calves,  broad 
shoulders,  a  high  courage,  and  a  handsome  face.  The 
accounts  of  Joseph's  bravery  and  good  qualities;  his 
voice,  too  musical  to  halloo  to  the  dogs;  his  bravery  in 
riding  races  for  the  gentlemen  of  the  county,  and  his 
constancy  in  refusing  bribes  and  temptation,  have  some- 
thing affecting  in  their  naivete  and  freshness,  and  pre- 
possess one  in  favour  of  that  handsome  young  hero. 
The  rustic  bloom  of  Fanny,  and  the  delightful  simplicity 
of  Parson  Adams,  are  described  with  a  friendliness 
which  wins  the  reader  of  their  story ;  we  part  from  them 
with  more  regret  than  from  Booth  and  Jones. 

Fielding,  no  doubt,  began  to  write  this  novel  in  ridi- 
cule of  "Pamela,"  for  which  work  one  can  understand 
the  hearty  contempt  and  antipathy  which  such  an  ath- 
letic and  boisterous  genius  as  Fielding's  must  have 
entertained.  He  couldn't  do  otherwise  than  laugh  at 
the  puny  cockney  bookseller,  pouring  out  endless 
volumes  of  sentimental  twaddle,  and  hold  him  up  to 
scorn  as  a  mollcoddle  and  a  milksop.  His  genius  had 
been  nursed  on  sack-posset,  and  not  on  dishes  of  tea. 
His  muse  had  sung  the  loudest  in  tavern  choruses,  had 
seen  the  daylight  streaming  in  over  thousands  of 
emptied  bowls,  and  reeled  home  to  chambers  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  watchman.  Richardson's  goddess  was 
attended  by  old  maids  and  dowagers,  and  fed  on  muffins 
and  bohea.  " Milksop! "  roars  Harry  Fielding,  clatter- 
ing at  the  timid  shop-shutters.  "Wretch!  Monster! 
Mohock!"  shrieks  the  sentimental  author  of  "Pa- 
mela;"^ and  all  the  ladies  of  his  court  cackle  out  an 

* "  Richardson,"  says  worthy  Mrs.  Barbauld,  in  her  Memoir  of  him,  pre- 
fixed to  his  Correspondence,  "was  exceedingly  liurt  at   this    ('Joseph   An- 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  347 

affrighted  chorus.  Fielding  proposes  to  write  a  book  in 
ridicule  of  the  author,  whom  he  disliked  and  utterly- 
scorned  and  laughed  at ;  but  he  is  himself  of  so  generous, 
jovial,  and  kindly  a  turn  that  he  begins  to  like  the 
characters  which  he  invents,  can't  help  making  them 
manly  and  pleasant  as  well  as  ridiculous,  and  before  he 
has  done  with  them  all,  loves  them  heartily  every  one. 

Richardson's  sickening  antipathy  for  Harry  Field- 
ing is  quite  as  natural  as  the  other's  laughter  and  con- 
tempt at  the  sentimentalist.  I  have  not  learned  that 
these  likings  and  dislikings  have  ceased  in  the  present 
day:  and  every  author  must  lay  his  account  not  only  to 
misrepresentation,  but  to  honest  enmity  among  critics, 
and  to  being  hated  and  abused  for  good  as  well  as  for 
bad  reasons.  Richardson  disliked  Fielding's  works 
quite  honestly:  Walpole  quite  honestly  spoke  of  them 
as  vulgar  and  stupid.  Their  squeamish  stomachs  sick- 
ened at  the  rough  fare  and  the  rough  guests  assembled 
at  Fielding's  jolly  revel.  Indeed  the  cloth  might  have 
been  cleaner:  and  the  dinner  and  the  company  were 
scarce  such  as  suited  a  dandy.  The  kind  and  wise  old 
Johnson  would  not  sit  down  with  him.^  But  a  greater 
scholar  than  Johnson  could  afford  to  admire  that  aston- 
ishing genius  of  Harry  Fielding:  and  we  all  know  the 
lofty  panegyric  which  Gibbon  wrote  of  him,  and  which 
remains  a  towering  monument  to  the  great  novelist's 

drews'),  the  more  so  as  they  had  been  on  good  terms,  and  he  was  very  in- 
timate with  Fielding's  two  sisters.  He  never  appears  cordially  to  have 
forgiven  it  (perhaps  it  was  not  in  human  nature  he  should),  and  he  always 
speaks  in  his  letters  with  a  great  deal  of  asperity  of  '  Tom  Jones,'  more 
indeed  than  was  quite  graceful  in  a  rival  author.  No  doubt  he  himself 
thought  his  indignation  was  solely  excited  by  the  loose  morality  of  the  work 
and  of  its  author,  but  he  could  tolerate  Gibber." 

-  It  must  always  be  borne  in  mind,  that  besides  that  the  Doctor  couldn't 
be  expected  to  like  Fielding's  wild  life  (to  say  nothing  of  the  fact  that  they 
were  of  opposite  sides  in  politics),  Richardson  was  one  of  his  earliest  and 
kindest  friends.  Yet  Johnson  too  (as  Boswell  tells  us)  read  "  Amelia " 
through  without  stopping. 


348  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

memory.  "  Our  immortal  Fielding,"  Gibbon  writes, 
"  was  of  the  younger  branch  of  the  Earls  of  Denbigh, 
who  drew  their  origin  from  the  Counts  of  Hapsburgh. 
The  successors  of  Charles  V.  may  disdain  their  brethren 
of  England :  but  the  romance  of  '  Tom  Jones,'  that 
exquisite  picture  of  humour  and  manners,  will  outlive 
the  palace  of  the  Escurial  and  the  Imperial  Eagle  of 
Austria." 

There  can  be  no  gainsaying  the  sentence  of  this  great 
judge.  To  have  your  name  mentioned  by  Gibbon,  is 
like  having  it  written  on  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's.  Pil- 
grims from  all  the  world  admire  and  behold  it. 

As  a  picture  of  manners,  the  novel  of  "  Tom  Jones  " 
is  indeed  exquisite:  as  a  work  of  construction  quite  a 
wonder:  the  by-play  of  wisdom;  the  power  of  obser- 
vation ;  the  multiplied  felicitous  turns  and  thoughts ;  the 
varied  character  of  the  great  Comic  Epic:  keep  the 
reader  in  a  perpetual  admiration  and  curiosity.^  But 
against  Mr.  Thomas  Jones  himself  we  have  a  right  to 
put  in  a  protest,  and  quarrel  with  the  esteem  the  author 
evidently  has  for  that  character.  Charles  Lamb  says 
finely  of  Jones,  that  a  single  hearty  laugh  from  him 
"clears  the  air"— but  then  it  is  in  a  certain  state  of  the 

^"Manners  change  from  generation  to  generation,  and  with  manners 
morals  appear  to  change  — actually  change  with  some,  but  appear  to  change 
with  all  but  the  abandoned.  A  young  man  of  the  present  day  who  should 
act  as  Tom  Jones  is  supposed  to  act  at  Upton,  with  Lady  Bellaston,  &?. 
would  not  be  a  Tom  Jones;  and  a  Tom  Jones  of  the  present  day,  without 
perhaps  being  in  the  ground  a  better  man,  would  have  perished  rather  than 
submit  to  he  kept  by  a  harridan  of  fortune.  Therefore,  this  novel  is,  and 
indeed  pretends  to  be,  no  example  of  conduct.  But,  notwithstanding  all  this, 
I  do  loathe  the  cant  which  can  recommend  '  Pamela '  and  '  Clarissa  Harlowe ' 
as  strictly  moral,  although  they  poison  the  imagination  of  the  young  with 
continued  doses  of  tinct.  lyttcr,  while  Tom  Jones  is  prohibited  as  loose.  I  do 
not  speak  of  young  women;  but  a  young  man  whose  heart  or  feelings  can  be 
injured,  or  even  his  passions  excited  by  this  novel,  is  already  thoroughly 
corrupt.  There  is  a  cheerful,  sunshiny,  breezy  spirit,  that  prevails  every- 
where, strongly  contrasted  with  the  close,  hot,  day-dreamy  continuity  of 
Richardson."  — Coleridge:  Literary  Remains,  vol.  ii.  p.  374. 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  349 

atmosphere.  It  might  clear  the  air  when  such  person- 
ages as  Bhfil  or  Lady  Bellaston  poison  it.  But  I  fear 
very  much  that  (except  until  the  very  last  scene  of  the 
story),  when  Mr.  Jones  enters  Sophia's  drawing-room, 
the  pure  air  there  is  rather  tainted  with  the  young  gen- 
tleman's tobacco-pipe  and  punch.  I  can't  say  that  I 
think  Mr.  Jones  a  virtuous  character;  I  can't  say  but 
that  I  think  Fielding's  evident  liking  and  admiration 
for  Mr.  Jones  shows  that  the  great  humourist's  moral 
sense  was  blunted  by  his  life,  and  that  here,  in  Art  and 
Ethics,  there  is  a  great  error.  If  it  is  right  to  have  a 
hero  whom  we  may  admire,  let  us  at  least  take  care  that 
he  is  admirable:  if,  as  is  the  plan  of  some  authors  (a 
plan  decidedly  against  their  interests,  be  it  said),  it  is 
propounded  that  there  exists  in  life  no  such  being,  and 
therefore  that  in  novels,  the  picture  of  life,  there  should 
appear  no  such  character;  then  Mr.  Thomas  Jones  be- 
comes an  admissible  person,  and  we  examine  his  defects 
and  good  qualities,  as  we  do  those  of  Parson  Thwackum, 
or  Miss  Seagrim.  But  a  hero  with  a  flawed  reputation ; 
a  hero  spunging  for  a  guinea ;  a  hero  who  can't  pay  his 
landlady,  and  is  obliged  to  let  his  honour  out  to  hire,  is 
absurd,  and  his  claim  to  heroic  rank  untenable.  I  pro- 
test against  Mr.  Thomas  Jones  holding  such  rank  at  all. 
I  protest  even  against  his  being  considered  a  more  than 
ordinary  young  fellow,  ruddy-cheeked,  broad-shoul- 
dered, and  fond  of  wine  and  pleasure.  He  would  not 
rob  a  church,  but  that  is  all ;  and  a  pretty  long  argument 
may  be  debated,  as  to  which  of  these  old  types,  the 
spendthrift,  the  hypocrite,  Jones  and  Blifil,  Charles 
and  Joseph  Surface,— is  the  worst  member  of  society 
and  the  most  deserving  of  censure.  The  prodigal  Cap- 
tain Booth  is  a  better  man  than  his  predecessor  Mr. 


350  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

Jones,  in  so  far  as  he  thinks  much  more  humbly  of  him- 
self than  Jones  did:  goes  down  on  his  knees,  and  owns 
his  weaknesses,  and  cries  out,  "Not  for  my  sake,  but 
for  the  sake  of  my  pure  and  sweet  and  beautiful  wife 
Ameha,  I  pray  you,  O  critical  reader,  to  forgive  me." 
That  stern  moralist  regards  him  from  the  bench  (the 
judge's  practice  out  of  court  is  not  here  the  question) , 
and  says,  "  Captain  Booth,  it  is  perfectly  true  that  your 
life  has  been  disreputable,  and  that  on  many  occasions 
you  have  shown  yourself  to  be  no  better  than  a  scamp— 
you  have  been  tippling  at  the  tavern,  when  the  kindest 
and  sweetest  lady  in  the  world  has  cooked  your  little 
supper  of  boiled  mutton  and  awaited  you  all  the  night; 
you  have  spoilt  the  little  dish  of  boiled  mutton  thereby, 
and  caused  pangs  and  pains  to  Amelia's  tender  heart. ^ 
You  have  got  into  debt  without  the  means  of  paying 
it.    You  have  gambled  the  money  with  which  you  ought 

' "  Nor  was  she  (Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu)  a  stranger  to  that  be- 
loved first  wife,  whose  picture  he  drew  in  his  '  Amelia,'  when,  as  she  said, 
even  the  glowing  language  he  knew  how  to  employ,  did  not  do  more  than 
justice  to  the  amiable  qualities  of  the  original,  or  to  her  beauty,  although 
this  had  suffered  a  little  from  the  accident  related  in  the  novel— a  frightful 
overturn,  which  destroyed  the  gristle  of  her  nose.  He  loved  her  passionately, 
and  she  returned  his  affection.     .     .     . 

"  His  biographers  seem  to  have  been  shy  of  disclosing  that,  after  the  death 
of  this  charming  woman,  he  married  her  maid.  And  yet  the  act  was  not  so 
discreditable  to  his  character  as  it  may  sound.  The  maid  had  few  personal 
charms,  but  was  an  excellent  creature,  devotedly  attached  to  her  mistress, 
and  almost  broken-hearted  for  her  loss.  In  the  first  agonies  of  his  own  grief, 
which  approached  to  frenzy,  he  found  no  relief  but  from  weeping  along  with 
her;  nor  solace  when  a  degree  calmer,  but  in  talking  to  her  of  the  angel  they 
mutually  regretted.  This  made  her  his  habitual  confidential  associate,  and 
in  process  of  time  he  began  to  think  he  could  not  give  his  children  a  tenderer 
mother,  or  secure  for  himself  a  more  faithful  housekeeper  and  nurse.  At 
least,  this  was  what  he  told  his  friends;  and  it  is  certain  that  her  conduct 
as  his  wife  confirmed  it,  and  fully  justified  his  good  opinion"— Letters  and 
Works  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu.  Edited  by  Lord  Wharncliffe. 
Introductory  Anecdotes,  vol.  i.  pp.  80,  81. 

Fielding's  first  wife  was  Miss  Craddock,  a  young  lady  from  Salisbury,  with 
a  fortune  of  1,500/.,  whom  he  married  in  1736.  About  the  same  time  he 
succeeded,  himself,  to  an  estate  of  200/.  per  annum,  and  on  the  joint  amount 
he  lived  for  some  time  as  a  splendid  country  gentleman  in  Dorsetshire. 
Three  years  brought  him  to  the  end  of  his  fortune;  when  he  returned  to 
London,  and  became  a  student  of  law. 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  351 

to  have  paid  your  rent.    You  have  spent  in  drink  or  in 
worse  amusements  the  sums  which  your  poor  wife  has 
raised  upon  her  httle  home  treasures,  her  own  orna- 
ments, and  the  toys  of  her  children.     But,  you  rascal! 
you  own  humbly  that  you  are  no  better  than  you  should 
be;  you  never  for  one  moment  pretend  that  you  are 
anything  but  a  miserable  weak-minded  rogue.    You  do 
in  your  heart  adore  that  angelic  woman,  your  wife,  and 
for  her  sake,   sirrah,   you  shall  have  your  discharge. 
Lucky  for  you  and  for  others  like  you,  that  in  spite  of 
your  faihngs  and  imperfections,  pure  hearts  pity  and 
love  you.    For  your  wife's  sake  you  are  permitted  to  go 
hence  without  a  remand ;  and  I  beg  you,  by  the  way,  to 
carry  to  that  angelical  lady  the  expression  of  the  cordial 
respect  and  admiration  of  this  court."     Ameha  pleads 
for  her  husband.  Will  Booth:  Ameha  pleads  for  her 
reckless  kindly  old  father,  Harry  Fielding.     To  have 
invented  that  character,  is  not  only  a  triumph  of  art,  but 
it  is  a  good  action.     They  say  it  was  in  his  own  home 
that    Fielding    knew    her    and    loved    her:    and  from 
his  own  wife  that  he  drew  the  most  charming  character 
in  Enghsh  fiction.     Fiction!  why  fiction?  why  not  his- 
tory?   I  know  Ameha  just  as  well  as  Lady  Mary  Wort- 
ley  Montagu.    I  believe  in  Colonel  Bath  almost  as  much 
as  in  Colonel  Gardiner  or  the  Duke  of  Cumberland.    I 
admire  the  author  of  "Amelia,"  and  thank  the  kind 
master  who  introduced  me  to  that  sweet  and  delightful 
companion  and  friend.  "Amelia"  perhaps  is  not  a  better 
story  than  "Tom  Jones,"  but  it  has  the  better  ethics; 
the    prodigal   repents    at   least,    before    forgiveness,— 
whereas  that  odious  broad-backed  Mr.  Jones  carries  off 
his  beauty  with  scarce  an  interval  of  remorse  for  his 
manifold  errors  and  shortcomings ;  and  is  not  half  pun- 


352  ENGLISH    HUMOURISTS 

ished  enough  before  the  great  prize  of  fortune  and  love 
falls  to  his  share.  I  am  angry  with  Jones.  Too  much 
of  the  plum-cake  and  rewards  of  life  fall  to  that  boister- 
ous, swaggering  young  scapegrace.  Sophia  actually 
surrenders  without  a  proper  sense  of  decorum ;  the  fond, 
foolish,  palpitating  little  creature  !— "  Indeed,  Mr. 
Jones,"  she  says, — "it  rests  with  you  to  appoint  the 
day."  I  suppose  Sophia  is  drawn  from  life  as  well  as 
Amelia;  and  many  a  young  fellow^  no  better  than  Mr. 
Thomas  Jones,  has  carried  by  a  coup  de  main  the  heart 
of  many  a  kind  girl  who  was  a  great  deal  too  good  for 
him. 

What  a  wonderful  art!  What  an  admirable  gift  of 
nature  was  it  by  which  the  author  of  these  tales  was 
endowed,  and  which  enabled  him  to  fix  our  interest,  to 
waken  our  sympathy,  to  seize  upon  our  credulity,  so  that 
we  believe  in  his  people— speculate  gravely  upon  their 
faults  or  their  excellences,  prefer  this  one  or  that, 
deplore  Jones's  fondness  for  drink  and  play.  Booth's 
fondness  for  play  and  drink,  and  the  unfortunate  posi- 
tion of  the  wives  of  both  gentlemen — love  and  admire 
those  ladies  with  all  our  hearts,  and  talk  about  them  as 
faithfully  as  if  we  had  breakfasted  with  them  this  morn- 
ing in  their  actual  drawing-rooms,  or  should  meet  them 
this  afternoon  in  the  Park!  What  a  genius!  what  a 
vigour!  what  a  bright-eyed  intelligence  and  observation! 
what  a  wholesome  hatred  for  meanness  and  knavery! 
what  a  vast  sympathy!  what  a  cheerfulness!  what  a 
manly  relish  of  life !  what  a  love  of  human  kind !  what  a 
poet  is  here!— watching,  meditating,  brooding,  creating! 
What  multitudes  of  truths  has  that  man  left  behind  him ! 
What  generations  he  has  taught  to  laugh  wisely  and 
fairly!    What  scholars  he  has  formed  and  accustomed 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  353 

to  the  exercise  of  thoughtful  humour  and  the  manly 
play  of  wit!  What  a  courage  he  had!  What  a  daunt- 
less and  constant  cheerfulness  of  intellect,  that  burned 
bright  and  steady  through  all  the  storms  of  his  life,  and 
never  deserted  its  last  wreck !  It  is  wonderful  to  think 
of  the  pains  and  misery  which  the  man  suffered;  the 
pressure  of  want,  illness,  remorse  which  he  endured; 
and  that  the  writer  was  neither  mahgnant  nor  melan- 
choly, his  view  of  truth  never  warped,  and  his  generous 
human  kindness  never  surrendered.^ 

^  In  the  Gentleman's  Magazine  for  1786,  an  anecdote  is  related  of  Harry 
Fielding,  "in  whom,"  says  the  correspondent,  "good-nature  and  philan- 
thropy in  their  extreme  degree  were  known  to  be  the  prominent  features." 
It  seems  that  "some  parochial  taxes"  for  his  house  in  Beaufort  Buildings 
had  long  been  demanded  by  the  collector.  "At  last,  Harry  went  off  to 
Johnson,  and  obtained  by  a  process  of  literary  mortgage  the  needful  sum. 
He  was  returning  with  it,  when  he  met  an  old  college  chum  whom  he  had  not 
seen  for  many  years.  He  asked  the  chum  to  dinner  with  him  at  a  neigh- 
bouring tavern;  and  learning  that  he  was  in  diflBculties,  emptied  the  contents 
of  his  pocket  into  his.  On  returning  home  he  was  informed  that  the  col- 
lector had  been  twice  for  the  money.  '  Friendship  has  called  for  the  money 
and  had  it,'  said  Fielding;  'let  the  collector  call  again.'" 

It  is  elsewhere  told  of  him,  that  being  in  company  with  the  Earl  of  Den- 
bigh, his  kinsman,  and  the  conversation  turning  upon  their  relationship,  the 
Earl  asked  him  how  it  was  that  he  spelled  his  name  "  Fielding,"  and  not 
"Feilding,"  like  the  head  of  the  house?  "I  cannot  tell,  my  lord,"  said  he, 
"  except  it  be  that  my  branch  of  the  family  were  the  first  that  knew  how  to 
spell." 

In  1748,  he  was  made  Justice  of  the  Peace  for  Westminster  and  Middle- 
sex, an  office  then  paid  by  fees,  and  very  laborious,  without  being  particu- 
larly reputable.  It  may  be  seen  from  his  own  words,  in  the  Introduction  to 
the  "  Voyage,"  what  kind  of  work  devolved  upon  him,  and  in  what  a  state  he 
was,  during  these  last  years;  and  still  more  clearly,  how  he  comported  him- 
self through  all. 

"  Whilst  I  was  preparing  for  my  journey,  and  when  I  was  almost 
fatigued  to  death  with  several  long  examinations,  relating  to  five  different 
murders,  all  committed  within  the  space  of  a  week,  by  different  gangs  of 
street-robbers,  I  received  a  message  from  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Newcastle, 
by  Mr.  Carrington,  the  King's  messenger,  to  attend  his  Grace  the  next 
morning  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  upon  some  business  of  importance:  but  I 
excused  myself  from  complying  with  the  message,  as,  besides  being  lame,  I 
was  very  ill  with  the  great  fatigues  I  had  lately  undergone,  added  to  my 
distemper. 

"  His  Grace,  however,  sent  Mr.  Carrington  the  very  next  morning,  with 
another  summons;  with  which,  though  in  the  utmost  distress,  I  immediately 
complied;  but  the  Duke  happening,  unfortunately  for  me,  to  be  then  par- 
ticularly engaged,  after  I  had  waited  some  time,  sent  a  gentleman  to  dis- 
course with  me  on  the  best  plan  which  could  be  invented  for  these  murders 
and  robberies,  which  were  every  day  committed  in  the  streets;  upon  which  I 


354  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

In  the  quarrel  mentioned  before,  which  hapj^ened  on 
Fielding's  last  voyage  to  Lisbon,  and  when  the  stout 
captain  of  the  ship  fell  down  on  his  knees  and  asked  the 
sick  man's  pardon— "I  did  not  suffer,"  Fielding  says, 
in  his  hearty,  manly  way,  his  eyes  lighting  up  as  it  were 
with  their  old  fire— "I  did  not  suiFer  a  brave  man  and 
an  old  man  to  remain  a  moment  in  that  posture,  but 
immediately  forgave  him."  Indeed,  I  think,  with  his 
noble  spirit  and  unconquerable  generosity,  Fielding  re- 
minds one  of  those  brave  men  of  whom  one  reads  in 
stories  of  EngHsh  shipwrecks  and  disasters— of  the  of- 
ficer on  the  African  shore,  when  disease  has  destroyed 
the  crew,  and  he  himself  is  seized  by  fever,  who  throws 
the  lead  with  a  death-stricken  hand,  takes  the  soundings, 

promised  to  transmit  my  opinion  in  writing  to  his  Grace,  who,  as  the  gentle- 
man informed  me,  intended  to  lay  it  before  the  Privy  Council. 

"Though  this  visit  cost  me  a  severe  cold,  I,  notwithstanding,  set  myself 
down  to  work,  and  in  about  four  days  sent  the  Duke  as  regular  a  plan  as  I 
could  form,  with  all  the  reasons  and"  arguments  I  could  bring  to  support  it, 
drawn  out  on  several  sheets  of  paper;  and  soon  received  a  message  from  the 
nuke,  by  Mr.  Carrington,  acquainting  me  that  my  plan  was  highly  approved 
of,  and  "that  all  the  terms  of  it  would  be  complied  with. 

"  The  principal  and  most  material  of  these  terms  was  the  immediately 
depositing  600/.  in  my  hands;  at  which  small  charge  I  undertook  to  demolish 
the  then  reigning  gangs,  and  to  put  the  civil  policy  into  such  order,  that  no 
such  gangs  should  ever  be  able  for  the  future  to  form  themselvej  into 
bodies,  or  at  least  to  remain  any  time  formidable  to  the  public. 

"  I  had  delayed  my  Bath  journey  for  some  time,  contrary  to  the  repeated 
advice  of  my  physical  acquaintances  and  the  ardent  desire  of  my  warmest 
friends,  though  my  distemper  was  now  turned  to  a  deep  jaundice;  in  which 
case  the  Bath  waters  are  generally  reputed  to  be  almost  infallible.  But  I 
had  the  most  eager  desire  to  demolish  this  gang  of  villains  and  cut- 
throats  

"  After  some  weeks  the  money  was  paid  at  the  Treasury,  and  within  a  few 
days  after  200/.  of  it  had  come  into  my  hands,  the  whole  gang  of  cut-throats 
was  entirely  dispersed " 

Further  on,  he  says— 

"  I  will  confess  that  my  private  affairs  at  the  beginning  of  the  winter  had 
but  a  gloomy  aspect ;  for  I  had  not  plundered  the  public  or  the  poor  of  those 
sums  which  men,  who  are  always  ready  to  plunder  both  as  much  as  they  can, 
have  been  pleased  to  suspect  me  of  taking;  on  the  contrary,  by  composing, 
instead  of  inflaming,  the  quarrels  of  porters  and  beggars  (which  I  bhisli 
when  I  say  hath  not  been  universally  practised),  and  by  refusing  to  take  a 
shilling  from  a  man  who  most  undoui)tedly  would  not  have  had  another 
left,  I  had  reduced  an  income  of  about  500/.  a  year  of  the  dirtiest  money 
ujion  earth,  to  little  more  than  300/.,  a  considerable  portion  of  which  re- 
mained witli  my  clerk." 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  355 

carries  the  ship  out  of  the  river  or  off  the  dangerous 
coast,  and  dies  in  the  manly  endeavour— of  the  wounded 
captain,  when  the  vessel  founders,  who  never  loses  his 
heart,  who  eyes  the  danger  steadily,  and  has  a  cheery 
word  for  all,  until  the  inevitable  fate  overwhelms  him, 
and  the  gallant  ship  goes  down.  Such  a  brave  and 
gentle  heart,  such  an  intrepid  and  courageous  spirit,  I 
love  to  recognize  in  the  manly,  the  English  Harry 
Fielding. 


STERNE    AND    GOLDSMITH 

ROGER  STERNE,  Sterne's  father,  was  the  sec- 
j  ond  son  of  a  numerous  race,  descendants  of  Rich- 
ard Sterne,  Archbishop  of  York,  in  the  reign  of  James 
II.;  and  children  of  Simon  Sterne  and  Mary  Jaques, 
his  wife,  heiress  of  Elvington,  near  York.^  Roger  was 
a  Heutenant  in  Handyside's  regiment,  and  engaged  in 
Flanders  in  Queen  Anne's  wars.  He  married  the 
daughter  of  a  noted  sutler— "  N.B.,  he  was  in  debt  to 
him,"  his  son  writes,  pursuing  the  paternal  biography— 
and  marched  through  the  world  with  this  companion; 
she  following  the  regiment  and  bringing  many  children 
to  poor  Roger  Sterne.  The  captain  was  an  irascible 
but  kind  and  simple  little  man,  Sterne  says,  and  informs 
us  that  his  sire  was  run  through  the  body  at  Gibraltar, 
by  a  brother  officer,  in  a  duel  which  arose  out  of  a  dis- 
pute about  a  goose.  Roger  never  entirely  recovered 
from  the  effects  of  this  rencontre,  but  died  presently  at 
Jamaica,  whither  he  had  followed  the  drum. 

Laurence,  his  second  child,  was  born  at  Clonmel,  in 
Ireland,  in  1713,  and  travelled,  for  the  first  ten  years 
of  his  life,  on  his  father's  march,  from  barrack  to  trans- 
port, from  Ireland  to  England.^ 

*He  came  of  a  Suffolk  family— one  of  whom  settled  in  Nottinghamshire. 
The  famous  "starling"  was  actually  the   family  crest. 

-"It  was  in  this  parish  (of  Animo,  in  Wicklow),  during  our  stay,  that  I 
had  that  wonderful  escape  in  falling  through  a  mill-race,  whilst  the  mill 
was  going,  and  of  being  taken  up  unhurt;  the  story  is  incredible,  but  known 
for  truth  in  all  that  part  of  Ireland,  where  hundreds  of  the  common  people 
flocked  to  see  me."  — Sterne. 


STERNE    AND    GOLDSMITH  357 

One  relative  of  his  mother's  took  her  and  her  family 
under  shelter  for  ten  months  at  Mullingar :  another  col- 
lateral descendant  of  the  Archbishop's  housed  them  for 
a  year  at  his  castle  near  Carrickfergus.  Larry  Sterne 
was  put  to  school  at  Halifax  in  England,  finally  was 
adopted  by  his  kinsman  of  Elvington,  and  parted  com- 
pany with  his  father,  the  Captain,  who  marched  on  his 
path  of  life  till  he  met  the  fatal  goose,  which  closed  his 
career.  The  most  picturesque  and  delightful  parts  of 
Laurence  Sterne's  writings,  we  owe  to  his  recollections 
of  the  military  life.  Trim's  montero  cap,  and  Le 
Fevre's  sword,  and  dear  Uncle  Toby's  roquelaure,  are 
doubtless  reminiscences  of  the  boy,  who  had  lived  with 
the  followers  of  William  and  Marlborough,  and  had 
beat  time  with  his  little  feet  to  the  fifes  of  Ramillies  in 
Dublin  barrack -yard,  or  played  with  the  torn  flags  and 
halberds  of  Malplaquet  on  the  parade-ground  at  Clon- 
mel. 

Laurence  remained  at  Halifax  school  till  he  was 
eighteen  years  old.  His  wit  and  cleverness  appear  to 
have  acquired  the  respect  of  his  master  here ;  for  when  the 
usher  whipped  Laurence  for  writing  his  name  on  the 
newly  whitewashed  school-room  ceiling,  the  pedagogue 
in  chief  rebuked  the  understrapper,  and  said  that  the 
name  should  never  be  effaced,  for  Sterne  was  a  boy  of 
genius,  and  would  come  to  preferment. 

His  cousin,  the  Squire  of  Elvington,  sent  Sterne  to 
Jesus  College,  Cambridge,  where  he  remained  five  years, 
and  taking  orders,  got,  through  his  uncle's  interest,  the 
living  of  Sutton  and  the  prebendary  of  York.  Through 
his  wife's  connections,  he  got  the  living  of  Stillington. 
He  married  her  in  1741;  having  ardently  courted  the 
young  lady  for  some  years  previously.    It  was  not  until 


358  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

the  young  lady  fancied  herself  dying,  that  she  made 
Sterne  acquainted  with  the  extent  of  her  liking  for  him. 
One  evening  when  he  was  sitting  with  her,  with  an 
almost  broken  heart  to  see  her  so  ill  (the  Rev.  Mr. 
Sterne's  heart  was  a  good  deal  broken  in  the  course  of 
his  life),  she  said— "My  dear  Laurey,  I  never  can  be 
yours,  for  I  verily  believe  I  have  not  long  to  live ;  but  I 
have  left  you  every  shilling  of  my  fortune:  "  a  generos- 
ity which  overpowered  Sterne.  She  recovered:  and  so 
they  were  married,  and  grew  heartily  tired  of  each  other 
before  many  years  were  over.  "  Nescio  quid  est  materia 
cum  me,"  Sterne  writes  to  one  of  his  friends  (in  dog- 
Latin,  and  very  sad  dog-Latin  too)  ;  "  sed  sum  fatigatus 
et  £egrotus  de  mea  uxore  plus  quam  unquam:"  which 
means,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  "  I  don't  know  what  is  the 
matter  with  me:  but  I  am  more  tired  and  sick  of  my 
wife  than  ever."  ^ 

This  to  be  sure  was  five-and-twenty  years  after 
Laurey  had  been  overcome  by  her  generosity  and  she  by 
Laurey's  love.  Then  he  wrote  to  her  of  the  delights  of 
marriage,  saying,  "  We  will  be  as  merry  and  as  innocent 
as  our  first  parents  in  Paradise,  before  the  arch  fiend 
entered  that  indescribable  scene.  The  kindest  affec- 
tions will  have  room  to  expand  in  our  retirement :  let  the 
human  tempest  and  hurricane  rage  at  a  distance,  the 
desolation  is  beyond  the  horizon  of  peace.  My  L.  has 
seen  a  polyanthus  blow  in  December?— Some  friendly 
wall  has  sheltered  it  from  the  biting  wind.  No  plane- 
tary influence  shall  reach  us,  but  that  which  presides 
and  cherishes  the  sweetest  flowers.    The  gloomy  family 

*"My  wife  returns  to  Toulouse,  and  proposes  to  pass  the  summer  at  Big- 
naferes.  I,  on  the  contrary,  po  and  visit  my  wife,  the  church,  in  Yorkshire. 
We  all  live  the  longer,  at  least  the  happier,  for  having  things  our  own  way; 
this  is  my  conjugal  maxim.  I  own  'tis  not  the  best  of  maxims,  but  I  main- 
tain 'tis  liot  the  worst."— Sterne's  Letters:  20th  January,  1764. 


STERNE    AND    GOLDSMITH  359 

of  care  and  distrust  shall  be  banished  from  our  dwelling, 
guarded  by  thy  kind  and  tutelar  deity.  We  will  sing 
our  choral  songs  of  gratitude  and  rejoice  to  the  end  of 
our  pilgrimage.  Adieu,  My  L.  Return  to  one  who 
languishes  for  thy  society!— As  I  take  up  my  pen,  my 
poor  pulse  quickens,  my  pale  face  glows,  and  tears  are 
trickling  down  on  my  paper  as  I  trace  the  word  L." 

And  it  is  about  this  woman,  with  whom  he  finds  no 
fault  but  that  she  bores  him,  that  our  philanthropist 
writes,  "  Sum  fatigatus  et  segrotus  ''—Sum  mortaliter 
in  amore  with  somebody  else !  That  fine  flower  of  love, 
that  polyanthus  over  which  Sterne  snivelled  so  many 
tears,  could  not  last  for  a  quarter  of  a  century! 

Or  rather  it  could  not  be  expected  that  a  gentleman 
with  such  a  fountain  at  command  should  keep  it  to 
arroser  one  homely  old  lady,  when  a  score  of  younger 
and  prettier  people  might  be  refreshed  from  the  same 
gushing  source.^     It  was  in  December,  1767,  that  the 

^  In  a  collection  of  "  Seven  Letters  by  Sterne  and  his  friends "  (printed 
for  private  circulation  in  1844),  is  a  letter  of  M.  Tollot,  who  was  in  France 
with  Sterne  and  his  family  in  1764.    Here  is  a  paragraph:— 

"  Nous  arrivames  le  lendemain  a  Montpellier,  oil  nous  trouvames  notre  ami 
Mr.  Sterne,  sa  femme,  sa  fiUe,  Mr.  Huet,  et  quelques  autres  Anglaises. 
J'eus,  je  vous  Tavoue,  beaucoup  de  plaisir  en  revoyant  le  bon  et  agreable 

Tristram II  avait  ete  assez  longtemps  k  Toulouse,  ou  11  se  serait 

amus^  sans  sa  femme,  qui  le  poursuivit  partout,  et  qui  voulait  etre  de  tout. 
Ces  dispositions  dans  cette  bonne  dame  lui  ont  fait  passer  d'assez  mauvais 
momens;  il  supporte  tous  ces  desagremens  avec  une  patience  d'ange." 

About  four  months  after  this  very  characteristic  letter,  Sterne  wrote  to 
the  same  gentleman  to  whom  Tollot  had  written ;  and  from  his  letter  we  may 
extract  a  companion  paragraph:  — 

" All  which  being  premised,  I  have  been  for  eight  weeks 

smitten  with  the  tenderest  passion  that  ever  tender  wight  underwent.  I 
wish,  dear  cousin,  thou  could'st  conceive  (perhaps  thou  canst  without  my 
wishing  it)  how  deliciously  I  cantered  away  with  it  the  first  month,  two  up, 
two  down,  always  upon  my  hunches,  along  the  streets  from  my  hotel  to  hers, 
at  first  once— then  twice,  then  three  times  a  day,  till  at  length  I  was  within 
an  ace  of  setting  up  my  hobby-horse  in  her  stable  for  good  and  all.  I 
might  as  well,  considering  how  the  enemies  of  the  Lord  have  blasphemed 
thereupon.  The  last  three  weeks  we  were  every  hour  upon  the  doleful  ditty 
of  parting;  and  thou  may'st  conceive,  dear  cousin,  how  it  altered  my  gait 
and  air:  for  I  went  and  came  like  any  louden'd  carl,  and  did  nothing  but 
jouer  dea  tentimem  with  her  from  sun-rising  even  to  the  setting  of  the  saraej 


360  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

Rev.  Laurence  Sterne,  the  famous  Shandean,  the 
charming  Yorick,  the  dehght  of  the  fashionable  world, 
the  delicious  divine,  for  whose  sermons  the  whole  polite 
world  was  subscribing,^  the  occupier  of  Rabelais's  easy 
chair,  only  fresh  stuffed  and  more  elegant  than  when 
in  possession  of  the  cynical  old  curate  of  Meudon,^— 

and  now  she  is  gone  to  the  south  of  France;  and  to  finish  the  comddie,  I  fell 
ill,  and  broke  a  vessel  in  my  lungs,  and  half  bled  to  death.  Voil^  mon  his- 
toire ! " 

Whether  husband  or  wife  had  most  of  the  "patience  d'ange"  may  be  un- 
certain ;  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  which  needed  it  most ! 

^'"Tristram  Shandy,'  is  still  a  greater  object  of  admiration,  the  man  as 
well  as  the  book:  one  is  invited  to  dinner,  where  he  dines,  a  fortnight  before. 
As  to  the  volumes  yet  published,  there  is  much  good  fun  in  them  and  humour 
sometimes  hit  and  sometimes  missed.  Have  you  read  his  '  Sermons,'  with 
his  own  comick  figure,  from  a  painting  by  Reynolds,  at  the  head  of  them? 
They  are  in  the  style  I  think  most  proper  for  the  pulpit,  and  show  a  strong 
imagination  and  a  sensible  heart;  but  you  see  him  often  tottering  on  the 
verge  of  laughter,  and  ready  to  throw  his  periwig  in  the  face  of  the  audi- 
ence."—Gray's  Letters:  June  22nd,  1760. 

"  It  having  been  observed  that  there  was  little  hospitality  in  London- 
Johnson:  'Nay,  sir,  any  man  who  has  a  name,  or  who  has  the  power  of 
pleasing,  will  be  very  generally  invited  in  London.  The  man,  Sterne,  I  have 
been  told,  has  had  engagements  for  three  months.'  Goldsmith :  '  And  a  very 
dull  fellow.'    Johnson:  'Why,  no,  sir.'"  — Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson. 

"Her  [Miss  Monckton's]  vivacity  enchanted  the  sage,  and  they  used  to 
talk  together  with  all  imaginable  ease.  A  singular  instance  happened  one 
evening,  when  she  insisted  that  some  of  Sterne's  writings  were  very  pathetic. 
Johnson  bluntly  denied  it.  '  I  am  sure,'  said  she,  '  they  have  affected  me.' 
'Why,'  said  Johnson,  smiling,  and  rolling  himself  about — 'that  is,  because, 
dearest,  you're  a  dunce.'  When  she  some  time  afterwards  mentioned  this  to 
him,  he  said  with  equal  truth  and  politeness,  *  Madam,  if  I  had  thougnt  so, 
I  certainly  should  not  have  said  it.'"— Ibid. 

*  A  passage  or  two  from  Sterne's  "  Sermons  "  may  not  be  without  interest 
here.  Is  not  the  following,  levelled  against  the  cruelties  of  the  Church  of 
Rome,  stamped  with  the  autograph  of  the  author  of  the  "  Sentimental 
Journey? " — 

"  To  be  convinced  of  this,  go  with  me  for  a  moment  into  the  prisons  of 
the  Inquisition— behold  religion  with  mercy  and  justice  chained  down  under 
her  feet,— there,  sitting  ghastly  upon  a  black  tribunal,  propped  up  with 
racks,  and  instruments  of  torment.  — Hark  ! — what  a  piteous  groan! — See 
the  melancholy  wretch  who  uttered  it,  just  brought  forth  to  undergo  the 
anguish  of  a  mock-trial,  and  endure  the  utmost  pain  that  a  studied  system  of 
religious  cruelly  has  been  able  to  invent.  Behold  this  helpless  victim  de- 
livered up  to  his  tormentors.  His  body  so  wasted  with  sorrow  and  long 
confinement,  you'll  see  every  nerve  and  muscle  as  it  suffers. — Observe  the 
last  movement  of  that  horrid  engine.  — What  convulsions  it  has  thrown  him 
into!  Consider  the  nature  of  the  posture  in  which  he  now  lies  stretched.— 
What  exquisite  torture  he  endures  by  it. — 'Tis  all  nature  can  bear. — Good 
God!  see  how  it  keeps  his  weary  soul  hanging  upon  his  trembling  lips,  willing 
to  take  its  leave,  but  not  suffered  to  depart.  Behold  the  unhappy  wretch 
led  back  to  his  cell,— dragg'd  out  of  it  again  to  meet  the  flames— and  the 


STERNE    AND    GOLDSMITH  361 

the  more  than  rival  of  the  Dean  of  St.  Patrick's,  wrote 
the  above-quoted  respectable  letter  to  his  friend  in  Lon- 
don: and  it  was  in  April  of  the  same  year  that  he  was 
pouring  out  his  fond  heart  to  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Draper, 
wife  of  "  Daniel  Draper,  Esq.,  Councillor  of  Bombay, 
and,  in  1775,  chief  of  the  factory  of  Surat— a  gentle- 
man very  much  respected  in  that  quarter  of  the  globe." 
"I  got  thy  letter  last  night,  Eliza,"  Sterne  writes, 
"  on  my  return  from  Lord  Bathurst's,  where  I  dined  " 
—  (the  letter  has  this  merit  in  it,  that  it  contains  a 
pleasant  reminiscence  of  better  men  than  Sterne,  and 
introduces  us  to  a  portrait  of  a  kind  old  gentleman)  — 
"  I  got  thy  letter  last  night,  Eliza,  on  my  return  from 
Lord  Bathurst's;  and  where  I  was  heard— as  I  talked 
of  thee  an  hour  without  intermission— with  so  much 
pleasure  and  attention,  that  the  good  old  Lord  toasted 
your  health  three  different  times;  and  now  he  is  in  his 
85th  year,  says  he  hopes  to  live  long  enough  to  be  in- 

insults  in  his  last  agonies,  which  this  principle— this  principle,  that  there 
can  be  religion  without  morality— has  prepared  for  him."— Sermon  27th. 

The  next  extract  is  preached  on  a  text  to  be  found  in  Judges  xix.  vv.  1,  2, 
3,  concerning  a  "certain  Levite:" — 

"  Such  a  one  the  Levite  wanted  to  share  his  solitude  and  fill  up  that  un- 
comfortable blank  in  the  heart  in  such  a  situation:  for,  notwithstanding  all 
we  meet  with  in  books,  in  many  of  which,  no  doubt,  there  are  a  good  many 

handsome   things   said   upon   the   sweets   of   retirement,   &c yet 

still  'it  is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone:'  nor  can  all  which  the  cold- 
hearted  pedant  stuns  our  ears  with  upon  the  subject,  ever  give  one  answer 
of  satisfaction  to  the  mind;  in  the  midst  of  the  loudest  vauntings  of  phi- 
losophy, nature  will  have  her  yearnings  for  society  and  friendship;— a  good 
heart  wants  some  object  to  be  kind  to— and  the  best  parts  of  our  blood,  and 
the  purest  of  our  spirits,  suifer  most  under  the  destitution. 

"  Let  the  torpid  monk  seek  Heaven  comfortless  and  alone.  God  speed 
him !  For  my  own  part,  I  fear  I  should  never  so  find  the  way :  let  me  be  toise 
and  religious,  but  let  me  be  Man;  wherever  thy  Providence  places  me,  or 
whatever  be  the  road  I  take  to  Thee,  give  me  some  companion  in  my  journey, 
be  it  only  to  remark  to,  '  How  our  shadows  lengthen  as  our  sun  goes  down; ' 
—to  whom  I  may  say,  '  How  fresh  is  the  face  of  Nature !  how  sweet  the 
flowers  of  the  field!  how  delicious  are  these  fruits! '  "—iS'ernion  ISth. 

The  first  of  these  passages  gives  us  another  drawing  of  the  famous  "  Cap- 
tive." The  second  shows  that  the  same  reflection  was  suggested  to  the  Rev. 
Laurence  by  a  text  in  Judges  as  by  the  fille-de-chambre. 

Sterne's  Sermons  were  published  as  those  of  "  Mr.  Yorick." 


362  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

troduced  as  a  friend  to  my  fair  Indian  disciple,  and  to 
see  her  eclipse  all  other  Nabobesses  as  much  in  wealth 
as  she  does  already  in  exterior  and,  what  is  far  better  " 
(for  Sterne  is  nothing  without  his  morality) , "  in  interior 
merit.  This  nobleman  is  an  old  friend  of  mine.  You 
know  he  was  always  the  protector  of  men  of  wit  and 
genius,  and  has  had  those  of  the  last  century,  Addison, 
Steele,  Pope,  Swift,  Prior,  &c.,  always  at  his  table.  The 
manner  in  which  his  notice  began  of  me  was  as  singular 
as  it  was  polite.  He  came  up  to  me  one  day  as  I  was  at 
the  Princess  of  Wales's  court,  and  said, '  I  want  to  know 
you,  Mr.  Sterne,  but  it  is  fit  you  also  should  know  who 
it  is  that  wishes  this  pleasure.  You  have  heard  of  an  old 
Lord  Bathurst,  of  whom  your  Popes  and  Swifts  have 
sung  and  spoken  so  much?  I  have  lived  my  life  with 
geniuses  of  that  cast;  but  have  survived  them;  and,  de- 
spairing ever  to  find  their  equals,  it  is  some  years  since 
I  have  shut  up  my  books  and  closed  my  accounts;  but 
you  have  kindled  a  desire  in  me  of  opening  them  once 
more  before  I  die :  which  I  now  do :  so  go  home  and  dine 
with  me.'  This  nobleman,  I  say,  is  a  prodigy,  for  he  has 
all  the  wit  and  promptness  of  a  man  of  thirty;  a  disposi- 
tion to  be  pleased,  and  a  power  to  please  others,  beyond 
whatever  I  knew:  added  to  which  a  man  of  learning, 
courtesy,  and  feeling. 

"  He  heard  me  talk  of  thee,  Eliza,  with  uncommon 
satisfaction — for  there  was  only  a  third  person,  and  of 
sensibility,  with  us :  and  a  most  sentimental  afternoon  till 
nine  o'clock  have  we  passed!^     But  thou,  Eliza,  wert 

*"I  am  glad  that  you  are  in  love:  'twill  cure  you  at  least  of  the  spleen, 
which  has  a  bad  effect  on  both  man  and  woman.  I  myself  must  ever  have 
some  Dulcinea  in  my  head;  it  harmonises  the  soul;  and  in  these  cases  I  first 
endeavour  to  make  the  lady  believe  so,  or  rather,  I  begin  first  to  make  my- 
self believe  that  I  am  in  love;  but  I  carry  on  my  aff'airs  quite  in  the  French 
way,  sentimentally:  '  L' amour,'  say  they,  '  n'est  rien  sans  sentiment,'    Now, 


STERNE    AND    GOLDSMITH  3G3 

the  star  that  conducted  and  enHvened  the  discourse! 
And  when  I  talked  not  of  thee,  still  didst  thou  fill  my 
mind,  and  warm  every  thought  I  uttered,  for  I  am  not 
ashamed  to  acknowledge  I  greatly  miss  thee.  Best  of 
all  good  girls!— the  sufferings  I  have  sustained  all  night 
in  consequence  of  thine,  Eliza,  are  beyond  the  power  of 
words.  .  .  .  And  so  thou  hast  fixed  thy  Bramin's 
portrait  over  thy  writing-desk,  and  wilt  consult  it  in 
all  doubts  and  difficulties? — Grateful  and  good  girl! 
Yorick  smiles  contentedly  over  all  thou  dost :  his  picture 
does  not  do  justice  to  his  own  complacency.  I  am  glad 
your  shipmates  are  friendly  beings  "  (Eliza  was  at  Deal, 
going  back  to  the  Councillor  at  Bombay,  and  indeed  it 
was  high  time  she  should  be  off) .  "  You  could  least 
dispense  with  what  is  contrary  to  your  own  nature,  which 
is  soft  and  gentle,  Eliza;  it  would  civilize  savages— 
though  pity  were  it  thou  should'st  be  tainted,  with  the 
office.  Write  to  me,  my  child,  thy  delicious  letters.  Let 
them  speak  the  easy  carelessness  of  a  heart  that  opens 
itself  anyhow,  everyhow.  Such,  Eliza,  I  write  to  thee! " 
(The  artless  rogue,  of  course  he  did!)  "And  so  I  should 
ever  love  thee,  most  artlessly,  most  affectionately,  if 
Providence  permitted  thy  residence  in  the  same  section 
of  the  globe :  for  I  am  all  that  honour  and  affection  can 
make  me  '  Thy  Bramin.'  " 

The  Bramin  continues  addressing  Mrs.  Draper  until 
the  departure  of  the  "  Earl  of  Chatham "   Indiaman 

notwithstanding  they  make  such  a  pother  about  the  word,  they  have  no 
precise  idea  annexed  to  it.  And  so  much  for  that  same  subject  called  love." 
—  Sterne's  Letters:  May  23,  1765. 

"P.S.— My  'Sentimental  Journey'  will  please  Mrs.  J and  my  Lydia" 

[his  daughter,  afterwards  Mrs.  Medalle]— "I  can  answer  for  those  two.  It 
is  a  subject  which  works  well,  and  suits  the  frame  of  mind  I  have  been  in 
for  some  time  past.  I  told  you  my  design  in  it  was  to  teach  us  to  love  the 
world  and  our  fellow-creatures  better  than  we  do— so  it  runs  most  upon 
those  gentler  passions  and  aflfections  which  aid  so  much  to  W."— Letters 
[1767]. 


364  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

from  Deal,  on  the  2nd  of  April,  1767.  He  is  amiably 
anxious  about  the  fresh  paint  for  Eliza's  cabin;  he  is 
uncommonly  solicitous  about  her  companions  on  board : 
"  I  fear  the  best  of  your  shipmates  are  only  genteel  by 
comparison  with  the  contrasted  crew  with  which  thou  be- 
holdest  them.  So  was— you  know  who— from  the  same 
fallacy  which  was  put  upon  your  judgment  when— but 
I  will  not  mortify  you! " 

"You  know  who"  was,  of  course,  Daniel  Draper, 
Esq.,  of  Bombay— a  gentleman  very  much  respected  in 
that  quarter  of  the  globe,  and  about  whose  probable 
health  our  worthy  Bramin  writes  with  delightful  can- 
dour:— 

"  I  honour  you,  Eliza,  for  keeping  secret  some  things 
which,  if  explained,  had  been  a  panegyric  on  yourself. 
There  is  a  dignity  in  venerable  affliction  which  will  not  al- 
low it  to  appeal  to  the  world  for  pity  or  redress.  Well 
have  you  supported  that  character,  my  amiable,  my  phil- 
osophic friend!  And,  indeed,  I  begin  to  think  you  have 
as  many  virtues  as  my  Uncle  Toby's  widow.  Talking  of 
widows— pray,  Eliza,  if  ever  you  are  such,  do  not  think 
of  giving  yourself  to  some  wealthy  Nabob,  because  I  de- 
sign to  marry  you  myself.  My  wife  cannot  live  long, 
and  I  know  not  the  woman  I  should  like  so  well  for  her 
substitute  as  yourself.  'Tis  true  I  am  ninety-five  in  con- 
stitution, and  you  but  twenty-five;  but  what  I  want  in 
youth,  I  will  make  up  in  wit  and  good-humour.  Not 
Swift  so  loved  his  Stella,  Scarron  his  Maintenon,  or 
Waller  his  Saccharissa.  Tell  me,  in  answer  to  this,  that 
you  approve  and  honour  the  proposal." 

Approve  and  honour  the  proposal!  The  coward  was 
writing  gay  letters  to  his  friends  this  while,  with  sneer- 
ing allusions  to  this  poor  foolish  Bramine.     Her  ship 


STERNE    AND    GOLDSMITH  365 

was  not  out  of  the  Downs,  and  the  charming  Sterne 
was  at  the  "  Mount  Coffee-house,"  with  a  sheet  of  gilt- 
edged  paper  before  him,  offering  that  precious  treasure 

his  heart  to  Lady  P ,  asking  whether  it  gave  her 

pleasure  to  see  him  unhappy?  whether  it  added  to  her 
triumph  that  her  eyes  and  lips  had  turned  a  man  into  a 
fool?— quoting  the  Lord's  Prayer,  with  a  horrible  base- 
ness of  blasphemy,  as  a  proof  that  he  had  desired  not  to 
be  led  into  temptation,  and  swearing  himself  the  most 
tender  and  sincere  fool  in  the  world.  It  was  from  his 
home  at  Cox  would  that  he  wrote  the  Latin  letter,  which, 
I  suppose,  he  was  ashamed  to  put  into  English.  I  find 
in  my  copy  of  the  Letters,  that  there  is  a  note  of  I  can't 
call  it  admiration,  at  Letter  112,  which  seems  to  an- 
nounce that  there  was  a  No.  3  to  whom  the  wretched 
worn-out  old  scamp  was  paying  his  addresses ;  ^  and 
the  year  after,  having  come  back  to  his  lodgings  in  Bond 
Street,  with  his  "  Sentimental  Journey  "  to  launch  upon 
the  town,  eager  as  ever  for  praise  and  pleasure— as 
vain,  as  wicked,  as  witty,  as  false  as  he  had  ever  been— 

'  "  To  Mrs.  H 

"  Coxwould,   Nov.    15,   1767. 

"Now  be  a  good  dear  woman,  my  H ,  and  execute  those  commissions 

well,  and  when  I  see  you  I  will  give  you  a  kiss— there's  for  you!  But  I  have 
something  else  for  you  which  I  am  fabricating  at  a  great  rate,  and  that  is 
my  '  Sentimental  Journey,'  which  shall  make  you  cry  as  much  as  it  has 
affected  me,  or  I  will  give  up  the  business  of  sentimental  writing.     .     .     . 

"  I  am  yours,  &c.  &c., 

"  T.  Shandy." 

"  To  THE  Earl  of 

"  Coxwould,  Nov.  28,  1767. 
"  My  Lord,— 'Tis  with  the  greatest  pleasure  I  take  my  pen  to  thank  your 
lordship  for  your  letter  of  inquiry  about  Yorick:  he  was  worn  out,  both  his 
spirits  and  body,  with  the  '  Sentimental  Journey.'  'Tis  true,  then,  an  author 
must  feel  himself,  or  his  reader  will  not;  but  I  have  torn  my  whole  frame 
into  pieces  by  my  feelings:  I  believe  the  brain  stands  as  much  in  need  of  re- 
cruiting as  the  body.  Therefore  I  shall  set  out  for  town  the  twentieth  of 
next  month,  after  having  recruited  myself  a  week  at  York.  I  might  indeed 
solace  myself  with  my  wife  (who  is  come  from  France)  ;  but,  in  fact,  I  have 
long  been  a  sentimental  being,  whatever  your  lordship  may  think  to  the  con- 
trary." 


366  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

death  at  length  seized  the  feeble  wretch,  and,  on  the  18th 
of  March,  1768,  that  "bale  of  cadaverous  goods,"  as 
he  calls  his  body,  was  consigned  to  Pluto. ^  In  his  last 
letter  there  is  one  sign  of  grace— the  real  affection  with 
which  he  entreats  a  friend  to  be  a  guardian  to  his  daugh- 
ter Lydia.  All  his  letters  to  her  are  artless,  kind,  affec- 
tionate and  not  sentimental;  as  a  hundred  pages  in  his 
writings  are  beautiful,  and  full,  not  of  surprising 
humour  merely,  but  of  genuine  love  and  kindness.  A 
perilous  trade,  indeed,  is  that  of  a  man  who  has  to  bring 
his  tears  and  laughter,  his  recollections,  his  personal 
griefs  and  joys,  his  private  thoughts  and  feehngs  to 
market,  to  write  them  on  paper,  and  sell  them  for  money. 
Does  he  exaggerate  his  grief,  so  as  to  get  his  reader's 
pity  for  a  false  sensibility?  feign  indignation,  so  as  to 
establish  a  character  for  virtue?  elaborate  repartees,  so 
that  he  may  pass  for  a  wit?  steal  from  other  authors,  and 
put  down  the  theft  to  the  credit  side  of  his  own  repu- 
tation for  ingenuity  and  learning?  feign  originality? 
affect    benevolence    or    misanthropy?    appeal    to    the 

>"In  February,  1768,  Laurence  Sterne,  his  frame  exhausted  by  long  de- 
bilitating illness,  expired  at  his  lodgings  in  Bond  Street,  London.  There 
was  something  in  the  manner  of  his  death  singularly  resembling  the  par- 
ticulars detailed  by  Mrs.  Quickly  as  attending  that  of  Falstaf,  the  compeer 
of  Yorick  for  infinite  jest,  however  unlike  in  other  particulars.  As  he  lay  on 
his  bed  totally  exhausted,  he  complained  that  his  feet  were  cold,  and  re- 
quested the  female  attendant  to  chafe  them.  She  did  so,  and  it  seemed  to 
relieve  him.  He  complained  that  the  cold  came  up  higher;  and  whilst  the 
assistant  was  in  the  act  of  chafing  his  ankles  and  legs,  he  expired  without  a 
groan.  It  was  also  remarkable  that  his  death  took  place  much  in  the  manner 
which  he  himself  had  wished;  and  that  the  last  offices  were  rendered  him, 
not  in  his  own  house,  or  by  the  hand  of  kindred  affection,  but  in  an  inn,  and 
by  strangers. 

"  We  are  well  acquainted  with  Sterne's  features  and  personal  appearance, 
to  which  he  himself  frequently  alludes.  He  was  tall  and  thin,  with  a  hectic 
and  consumptive  appearance."— Sir  Walter  Scott. 

"  It  is  known  that  Sterne  died  in  hired  lodgings,  and  I  have  been  told  that 
his  attendants  robbed  him  even  of  his  gold  sleeve-buttons  while  he  was 
expiring."  — Dr.   Fkriuar. 

"  He  died  at  No.  41  (now  a  cheesemonger's)  on  the  west  side  of  Old  Bond 
Street."— Handbook  of  London. 


STERNE    AND   GOLDSMITH  367 

gallery  gods  with  claptraps  and  vulgar  baits  to  catch 
applause? 

How  much  of  the  paint  and  emphasis  is  necessary  for 
the  fair  business  of  the  stage,  and  how  much  of  the  rant 
and  rouge  is  put  on  for  the  vanity  of  the  actor.  His 
audience  trusts  him:  can  he  trust  himself?  How  much 
was  deliberate  calculation  and  imposture— how  much 
was  false  sensibility— and  how  much  true  feeling? 
Where  did  the  lie  begin,  and  did  he  know  where?  and 
where  did  the  truth  end  in  the  art  and  scheme  of  this 
man  of  genius,  this  actor,  this  quack?  Some  time  since, 
I  was  in  the  company  of  a  French  actor,  who  began 
after  dinner,  and  at  his  own  request,  to  sing  French 
songs  of  the  sort  called  des  chansons  grivoises,  and  which 
he  performed  admirably,  and  to  the  dissatisfaction  of 
most  persons  present.  Having  finished  these,  he  com- 
menced a  sentimental  ballad— it  was  so  charmingly  sung, 
that  it  touched  all  persons  present,  and  especially  the 
singer  himself,  whose  voice  trembled,  whose  eyes  filled 
with  emotion,  and  who  was  snivelHng  and  weeping  quite 
genuine  tears  by  the  time  his  own  ditty  was  over.  I 
suppose  Sterne  had  this  artistical  sensibility;  he  used  to 
blubber  perpetually  in  his  study,  and  finding  his  tears 
infectious,  and  that  they  brought  him  a  great  popular- 
ity, he  exercised  the  lucrative  gift  of  weeping:  he  util- 
ized it,  and  cried  on  every  occasion.  I  own  that  I  don't 
value  or  respect  much  the  cheap  dribble  of  those  foun- 
tains. He  fatigues  me  with  his  perpetual  disquiet  and 
his  uneasy  appeals  to  my  risible  or  sentimental  faculties. 
He  is  always  looking  in  my  face,  watching  his  effect, 
uncertain  whether  I  think  him  an  impostor  or  not;  pos- 
ture-making, coaxing,  and  imploring  me.  "  See  what 
sensibility  I  have— own  now  that  I'm  very  clever— do 


368  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

cry  now,  you  can't  resist  this."  The  humour  of  Swift 
and  Rabelais,  whom  he  pretended  to  succeed,  poured 
from  them  as  naturally  as  song  does  from  a  bird;  they 
lose  no  manly  dignity  with  it,  but  laugh  their  hearty 
great  laugh  out  of  their  broad  chests  as  nature  bade 
them.  But  this  man— who  can  make  you  laugh,  who 
can  make  you  cry  too— never  lets  his  reader  alone,  or  will 
permit  his  audience  repose :  when  you  are  quiet,  he  fan- 
cies he  must  rouse  you,  and  turns  over  head  and  heels, 
or  sidles  up  and  whispers  a  nasty  story.  The  man  is  a 
great  jester,  not  a  great  humourist.  He  goes  to  work 
systematically  and  of  cold  blood;  paints  his  face,  puts 
on  his  ruff  and  motley  clothes,  and  lays  down  his  carpet 
and  tumbles  on  it. 

For  instance,  take  the  "  Sentimental  Journey,"  and  see 
in  the  writer  the  deliberate  propensity  to  make  points 
and  seek  applause.  He  gets  to  "  Dessein's  Hotel,"  he 
wants  a  carriage  to  travel  to  Paris,  he  goes  to  the  inn- 
yard,  and  begins  what  the  actors  call  "  business  "  at  once. 
There  is  that  little  carriage  (the  desohligeante) .  "  Four 
months  had  elapsed  since  it  had  finished  its  career 
of  Europe  in  the  corner  of  Monsieur  Dessein's  coach- 
yard,  and  having  sallied  out  thence  but  a  vamped-up 
business  at  first,  though  it  had  been  twice  taken  to  pieces 
on  Mount  Sennis,  it  had  not  profited  much  by  its  ad- 
ventures, but  by  none  so  little  as  the  standing  so  many 
months  unpitied  in  the  corner  of  Monsieur  Dessein's 
coach -yard.  Much,  indeed,  was  not  to  be  said  for  it— 
but  something  might— and  when  a  few  words  will  rescue 
misery  out  of  her  distress,  I  hate  the  man  who  can  be  a 
churl  of  them." 

Le  tour  est  fait !  Paillasse  has  tumbled !  Paillasse  has 
jumped  over  the  desohligeante,  cleared  it,  hood  and  all. 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH  369 

and  bows  to  the  noble  company.  Does  anybody  believe 
that  this  is  a  real  Sentiment?  that  this  luxury  of  gener- 
osity, this  gallant  rescue  of  Misery— out  of  an  old  cab, 
is  genuine  feeling?  It  is  as  genuine  as  the  virtuous 
oratory  of  Joseph  Surface  when  he  begins,  "  The  man 
who,"  &c.  &:c.,  and  wishes  to  pass  off  for  a  saint  with  his 
credulous,  good-humoured  dupes. 

Our  friend  purchases  the  carriage :  after  turning  that 
notorious  old  monk  to  good  account,  and  effecting  (like 
a  soft  and  good-natured  Paillasse  as  he  was,  and  very 
free  with  his  money  when  he  had  it,)  an  exchange  of 
snuff-boxes  with  the  old  Franciscan,  jogs  out  of  Calais; 
sets  down  in  immense  figures  on  the  credit  side  of  his 
account  the  sous  he  gives  away  to  the  Montreuil  beg- 
gars; and,  at  Nampont,  gets  out  of  the  chaise  and 
whimi)ers  over  that  famous  dead  donkey,  for  which  any 
sentimentalist  may  cry  who  will.  It  is  agreeably  and 
skilfully  done— that  dead  jackass;  like  M.  de  Soubise's 
cook  on  the  campaign,  Sterne  dresses  it,  and  serves  it  up 
quite  tender  and  with  a  very  piquante  sauce.  But  tears, 
and  fine  feelings,  and  a  white  pocket-handkerchief,  and 
a  funeral  sermon,  and  horses  and  feathers,  and  a  pro- 
cession of  mutes,  and  a  hearse  with  a  dead  donkey  in- 
side! Psha,  mountebank!  I'll  not  give  thee  one  penny 
more  for  that  trick,  donkey  and  all! 

This  donkey  had  appeared  once  before  with  signal 
effect.  In  1765,  three  years  before  the  publication  of 
the  "  Sentimental  Journey,"  the  seventh  and  eighth  vol- 
umes of  "  Tristram  Shandy  "  were  given  to  the  world, 
and  the  famous  Lyons  donkey  makes  his  entry  in  those 
volumes  (pp.  315,  316)  :— 

"  'Twas  by  a  poor  ass,  with  a  couple  of  large  panniers 
at  his  back,  who  had  just  turned  in  to  collect  eleemosy- 


370  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

nary  turnip-tops  and  cabbage-leaves,  and  stood  dubious, 
with  his  two  forefeet  at  the  inside  of  the  threshold,  and 
with  his  two  hinder  feet  towards  the  street,  as  not  know- 
ing very  well  whether  he  was  to  go  in  or  no. 

"  Now  'tis  an  animal  (be  in  what  hurry  I  may)  I  can- 
not bear  to  strike :  there  is  a  patient  endurance  of  suffer- 
ing wrote  so  unaffectedly  in  his  looks  and  carriage 
which  pleads  so  mightily  for  him,  that  it  always  disarms 
me,  and  to  that  degree  that  I  do  not  like  to  speak  un- 
kindly to  him:  on  the  contrary,  meet  him  where  I  will, 
whether  in  town  or  country,  in  cart  or  under  panniers, 
whether  in  liberty  or  bondage,  I  have  ever  something 
civil  to  say  to  him  on  my  part ;  and,  as  one  word  begets 
another  (if  he  has  as  httle  to  do  as  I) ,  I  generally  fall 
into  conversation  with  him;  and  surely  never  is  my 
imagination  so  busy  as  in  framing  responses  from  the 
etchings  of  his  countenance;  and  where  those  carry  me 
not  deep  enough,  in  flying  from  my  own  heart  into  his, 
and  seeing  what  is  natural  for  an  ass  to  think— as  well 
as  a  man,  upon  the  occasion.  In  truth,  it  is  the  only 
creature  of  all  the  classes  of  beings  below  me  with  whom 
I  can  do  this.  .  .  .  With  an  ass  I  can  commune  for 
ever. 

*' '  Come,  Honesty,'  said  I,  seeing  it  was  impracticable 
to  pass  betwixt  him  and  the  gate,  '  art  thou  for  coming 
in  or  going  out?' 

"  The  ass  twisted  his  head  round  to  look  up  the  street. 

"'Well!'  replied  I,  'we'll  wait  a  minute  for  thy 
driver.' 

"He  turned  his  head  thoughtful  about,  and  looked 
wistfully  the  opposite  way. 

"  '  I  understand  thee  perfectly,'  answered  I :  '  if  thou 
takest  a  wrong  step  in  this  affair,  he  will  cudgel  thee 


STERNE    AND    GOLDSMITH  371 

to  death.  Well!  a  minute  is  but  a  minute;  and  if  it 
saves  a  fellow-creature  a  drubbing,  it  shall  not  be  set 
down  as  ill  spent.' 

"  He  was  eating  the  stem  of  an  artichoke  as  this  dis- 
course went  on,  and,  in  the  little  peevish  contentions  be- 
tween hunger  and  unsavouriness,  had  dropped  it  out  of 
his  mouth  half-a-dozen  times,  and  had  picked  it  up 
again.  '  God  help  thee,  Jack ! '  said  I, '  thou  hast  a  bitter 
breakfast  on't— and  many  a  bitter  day's  labour,  and 
many  a  bitter  blow,  1  fear,  for  its  wages!  'Tis  all, 
all  bitterness  to  thee— whatever  life  is  to  others!  And 
now  thy  mouth,  if  one  knew  the  truth  of  it,  is  as  bitter,  I 
dare  say,  as  soot '  (for  he  had  cast  aside  the  stem) ,  '  and 
thou  hast  not  a  friend  perhaps  in  all  this  world  that  will 
give  thee  a  macaroon.'  In  saying  this,  I  pulled  out  a 
paper  of  'em,  which  I  had  just  bought,  and  gave  him 
one;— and,  at  this  moment  that  I  am  telling  it,  my  heart 
smites  me  that  there  was  more  of  pleasantry  in  the  con- 
ceit of  seeing  how  an  ass  would  eat  a  macaroon,  than  of 
benevolence  in  giving  him  one,  which  presided  in  the 
act. 

"  When  the  ass  had  eaten  his  macaroon,  I  pressed  him 
to  come  in.  The  poor  beast  was  heavy  loaded— his  legs 
seemed  to  tremble  under  him— he  hung  rather  back- 
wards, and,  as  I  pulled  at  his  halter,  it  broke  in  my 
hand.  He  looked  up  pensive  in  my  face :  '  Don't  thrash 
me  with  it;  but  if  you  will  you  may.'  '  If  I  do,'  said  I, 
'I'll  bed-.'" 

A  critic  who  refuses  to  see  in  this  charming  description 
wit,  humour,  pathos,  a  kind  nature  speaking,  and  a  real 
sentiment,  must  be  hard  indeed  to  move  and  to  please. 
A  page  or  two  farther  we  come  to  a  description  not  less 
beautiful— a  landscape  and  figures,  deliciously  painted 


372  ENGLISH  HUMOURISTS 

by  one  who  had  the  keenest  enjoyment  and  the  most 
tremulous  sensibihty:— 

"  'Twas  in  the  road  between  Nismes  and  Lunel,  where 
is  the  best  Muscatto  wine  in  all  France :  the  sun  was  set, 
they  had  done  their  work :  the  nymphs  had  tied  up  their 
hair  afresh,  and  the  swains  were  preparing  for  a  car- 
ousal. My  mule  made  a  dead  point.  "Tis  the  pipe 
and  tambourine,'  said  I— 'I  never  will  argue  a  point 
with  one  of  your  family  as  long  as  I  live ; '  so  leaping  off 
his  back,  and  kicking  off  one  boot  into  this  ditch  and 
t'other  into  that,  '  I'll  take  a  dance,'  said  I,  '  so  stay  you 
here.' 

"A  sun-burnt  daughter  of  labour  rose  up  from  the 
group  to  meet  me  as  I  advanced  towards  them ;  her  hair, 
which  was  of  a  dark  chestnut  approaching  to  a  black, 
was  tied  up  in  a  knot,  all  but  a  single  tress. 

"  '  We  want  a  cavalier,'  said  she,  holding  out  both  her 
hands,  as  if  to  offer  them.  'And  a  cavalier  you  shall 
have,'  said  I,  taking  hold  of  both  of  them.  '  We  could 
not  have  done  without  you,'  said  she,  letting  go  one 
hand,  with  self-taught  politeness,  and  leading  me  up 
with  the  other. 

"  A  lame  youth,  whom  Apollo  had  recompensed  with 
a  pipe,  and  to  which  he  had  added  a  tambourine  of  his 
own  accord,  ran  sweetly  over  the  prelude,  as  he  sat  upon 
the  bank.  'Tie  me  up  this  tress  instantly,'  said  Nan- 
nette,  putting  a  piece  of  string  into  my  hand.  It  taught 
me  to  forget  I  was  a  stranger.  The  whole  knot  fell 
down— we  had  been  seven  years  acquainted.  The  youth 
struck  the  note  upon  the  tambourine,  his  pipe  followed, 
and  off  we  bounded. 

"  The  sister  of  the  youth— who  had  stolen  her  voice 
from  heaven— sang  alternately  with  her  brother.   'Twas 


STERNE    AND    GOLDSMITH  373 

a  Gascoigne  roundelay:  'Viva  la  joia,  fidon  la  tris- 
tessa/  The  nymphs  joined  in  unison,  and  their  swains 
an  octave  below  them. 

"  Viva  la  joia  was  in  Nannette's  lips,  viva  la  joia  in 
her  eyes.  A  transient  spark  of  amity  shot  across  the 
space  betwixt  us.  She  looked  amiable.  Why  could  I 
not  live  and  end  my  days  thus?  'Just  Disposer  of  our 
joys  and  sorrows!'  cried  I,  'why  could  not  a  man  sit 
doM^n  in  the  lap  of  content  here,  and  dance,  and  sing, 
and  say  his  prayers,  and  go  to  heaven  with  this  nut- 
brown  maid?'  Capriciously  did  she  bend  her  head  on 
one  side,  and  dance  up  insidious.  'Then  'tis  time  to 
dance  off,'  quoth  I." 

And  with  this  pretty  dance  and  chorus,  the  volume 
artfully  concludes.  Even  here  one  can't  give  the  whole 
description.  There  is  not  a  page  in  Sterne's  writing  but 
has  something  that  were  better  away,  a  latent  corruption 
—a  hint,  as  of  an  impure  presence.^ 

^"With  regard  to  Sterne,  and  the  charge  of  licentiousness  which  presses 
so  seriously  upon  his  character  as  a  writer,  I  would  remark  that  there  is  a 
sort  of  knowingness,  the  wit  of  which  depends,  1st,  on  the  modesty  it  gives 
pain  to;  or,  2ndly,  on  the  innocence  and  innocent  ignorance  over  which  it 
triumphs;  or,  3rdly,  on  a  certain  oscillation  in  the  individual's  own  mind  be- 
tween the  remaining  good  and  the  encroaching  evil  of  his  nature— a  sort  of 
dallying  with  the  devil— a  fluxionary  art  of  combining  courage  and  cow- 
ardice, as  when  a  man  snuflFs  a  candle  with  his  fingers  for  the  first  time,  or 
better  still,  perhaps,  like  that  trembling  daring  with  which  a  child  touches 
a  hot  tea-urn,  because  it  has  been  forbidden;  so  that  the  mind  has  its  own 
white  and  black  angel;  the  same  or  similar  amusement  as  may  be  supposed 
to  take  place  between  an  old  debauchee  and  a  prude— the  feeling  resentment, 
on  the  one  hand,  from  a  prudential  anxiety  to  preserve  appearances  and  have 
a  character;  and,  on  the  other,  an  inward  sympathy  with  the  enemy.  We 
have  only  to  suppose  society  innocent,  and  then  nine-tenths  of  this  sort  of 
wit  would  be  like  a  stone  that  falls  in  snow,  making  no  sound,  because 
exciting  no  resistance;  the  remainder  rests  on  its  being  an  offence  against 
the  good  manners  of  human  nature  itself. 

"  This  source,  unworthy  as  it  is,  may  doubtless  be  combined  with  wit, 
drollery,  fancy,  and  even  humour;  and  we  have  only  to  regret  the  misalliance; 
but  that  the  latter  are  quite  distinct  from  the  former,  may  be  made  evident 
by  abstracting  in  our  imagination  the  morality  of  the  characters  of  Mr. 
Shandy,  my  Uncle  Toby,  and  Trim,  which  are  all  antagonists  to  this  spurious 
sort  of  wit,  from  the  rest  of  '  Tristram  Shandy,'  and  by  supposing,  instead 
of  them,  the  presence  of  two  or  three  callous  debauchees.    The  result  will  be 


374  ENGLISH    HUMOURISTS 

Some  of  that  dreary  double  entendre  may  be  attrib- 
uted to  freer  times  and  manners  than  ours,  but  not  all. 
The  foul  Satyr's  eyes  leer  out  of  the  leaves  constantly : 
the  last  words  the  famous  author  wrote  were  bad  and 
wicked — the  last  lines  the  poor  stricken  wretch  penned 
were  for  pity  and  pardon.  I  think  of  these  past  writers 
and  of  one  who  lives  amongst  us  now,  and  am  grateful 
for  the  innocent  laughter  and  the  sweet  and  unsullied 
page  which  the  author  of  "  David  Copperfield "  gives 
to  my  children. 

"  Jete  sur  cette  boule, 
Laid,  chetif  et  soufFrant ; 
EtoufFe  dans  la  foule, 
Faute  d'etre  assez  grand: 

"  Une  plainte  touchante 
De  ma  bouche  sortit. 
Le  bon  Dieu  me  dit :  Chante, 
Chante,  pauvre  petit! 

"  Chanter,  ou  je  m'abuse, 
Est  ma  tache  ici  bas. 
Tons  ceux  qu'ainsi  j 'amuse, 
Ne  m'aimeront-ils  pas  ?  " 

In  those  charming  lines  of  Beranger,  one  may  fancy 
described  the  career,  the  sufferings,  the  genius,  the  gen- 
tle nature  of  Goldsmith,  and  the  esteem  in  which  we 
hold  him.  Who,  of  the  millions  whom  he  has  amused, 
doesn't  love  him?  To  be  the  most  beloved  of  English 
writers,  what  a  title  that  is  for  a  man !  ^    A  wild  j^outh, 

pure  disgust.  Sterne  cannot  be  too  severely  censured  for  thus  using  the 
best  dispositions  of  our  nature  as  the  panders  and  condiments  for  the 
basest."  — Colekhk-.e:  Literary  Remains,  vol.  i.  pp.  l-tl,  142. 

'  "  He  was  a  friend  to  virtue,  and  in  his  most  playful  pages  ne%'er  forgets 
what  is  due  to  it.    A  gentleness,  delicacy,  and  purity  of  feeling  distinguishes 


STERNE   AND   GOLDSMITH  375 

wayward,  but  full  of  tenderness  and  affection,  quits 
the  country  village  where  his  boyhood  has  been  passed 
in  happy  musing,  in  idle  shelter,  in  fond  longing  to  see 
the  great  world  out  of  doors,  and  achieve  name  and  for- 
tune; and  after  years  of  dire  struggle,  and  neglect  and 
poverty,  his  heart  turning  back  as  fondly  to  his  native 
place  as  it  had  longed  eagerly  for  change  when  sheltered 
there,  he  writes  a  book  and  a  poem,  full  of  the  recollec- 
tions and  feelings  of  home:  he  paints  the  friends  and 
scenes  of  his  youth,  and  peoples  Auburn  and  Wakefield 
with  remembrances  of  Lissoy.  Wander  he  must,  but  he 
carries  away  a  home-relic  with  him,  and  dies  with  it  on 
his  breast.  His  nature  is  truant;  in  repose  it  longs  for 
change:  as  on  the  journey  it  looks  back  for  friends  and 
quiet.  He  passes  to-day  in  building  an  air-castle  for  to- 
morrow, or  in  writing  yesterday's  elegy;  and  he  would 
fly  away  this  hour,  but  that  a  cage  and  necessity  keep 
him.  What  is  the  charm  of  his  verse,  of  his  style,  and 
humour?  His  sweet  regrets,  his  delicate  compassion, 
his  soft  smile,  his  tremulous  sympathy,  the  weakness 
which  he  owns?  Your  love  for  him  is  half  pity.  You 
come  hot  and  tired  from  the  day's  battle,  and  this  sweet 
minstrel  sings  to  you.  Who  could  harm  the  kind  va- 
grant harper?  Whom  did  he  ever  hurt?  He  carries 
no  weapon,  save  the  harp  on  which  he  plays  to  you ;  and 
with  which  he  delights  great  and  humble,  young  and 
old,  the  captains  in  the  tents,  or  the  soldiers  round  the 

whatever  he  wrote,  and  bears  a  correspondence  to  the  generosity  of  a  dispo- 
sition which  knew  no  bounds  but  his  last  guinea 

"The  admirable  ease  and  grace  of  the  narrative,  as  well  as  the  pleasing 
truth  with  which  the  principal  characters  are  designed,  make  the  '  Vicar  of 
Wakefield'  one  of  the  most  delicious  morsels  of  fictitious  composition  on 
which  the  human  mind  was  ever  employed. 

",  .  .  .  We  read  the  'Vicar  of  Wakefield'  in  youth  and  in  age— we 
return  to  it  again  and  again,  and  bless  the  memory  of  an  author  who  con- 
trives so  well  to  reconcile  us  to  human  nature."— Sir  Walter  Scott. 


376  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

fire,  or  the  women  and  children  in  the  villages,  at  whose 
porches  he  stops  and  sings  his  simple  songs  of  love  and 
beauty.  With  that  sweet  story  of  the  "  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field"^ he  has  found  entry  into  every  castle  and  every 

' "  Now  Herder  came,"  says  Goethe  in  his  Autobiography,  relating  his 
first  acquaintance  with  Goldsmith's  masterpiece,  "and  together  with 
his  great  knowledge  brought  many  other  aids,  and  the  later  publications 
besides.  Among  these  he  announced  to  us  the  '  Vicar  of  Wakefield '  as 
an  excellent  work,  with  the  German  translation  of  which  he  would  make  us 
acquainted  by  reading  it  aloud  to  us  himself 

"  A  Protestant  country  clergyman  is  perhaps  the  most  beautiful  subject 
for  a  modern  idyl ;  he  a'ppears  "like  Melchizedeck,  as  priest  and  king  in  one 
person.  To  the  most  innocent  situation  which  can  be  imagined  on  earth,  to 
that  of  a  husbandman,  he  is,  for  the  most  part,  united  by  similarity  of  occu- 
pation as  well  as  by  equality  in  family  relationships;  he  is  a  father,  a  master 
of  a  family,  an  agriculturist,  and  thus  perfectly  a  member  of  the  commu- 
nity. On  this  pure,  beautiful  earthly  foundation  rests  his  higher  calling;  to 
him  is  it  given  to  guide  men  through  life,  to  take  care  of  their  spiritual  edu- 
cation, to  bless  them  at  all  the  leading  epochs  of  their  existence,  to  instruct, 
to  strengthen,  to  console  them,  and  if  consolation  is  not  sufficient  for  the 
present,  to  call  up  and  guarantee  the  hope  of  a  happier  future.  Imagine 
such  a  man  with  pure  human  sentiments,  strong  enough  not  to  deviate  from 
them  under  any  circumstances,  and  by  this  already  elevated  above  the  mul- 
titude of  whom  one  cannot  expect  purity  and  firmness;  give  him  the  learning 
necessary  for  his  office,  as  well  as  a  cheerful,  equable  activity,  which  is  even 
passionate,  as  it  neglects  no  moment  to  do  good— and  you  will  have  him  well 
endowed.  But  at  the  same  time  add  the  necessary  limitation,  so  that  he 
must  not  only  pause  in  a  small  circle,  but  may  also,  perchance,  pass  over  to 
a  smaller;  grant  him  good-nature,  placability,  resolution,  and  everything 
else  praiseworthy  that  springs  from  a  decided  character,  and  over  all  this 
a  cheerful  spirit  of  compliance,  and  a  smiling  toleration  of  his  own  failings 
and  those  of  others,— then  you  will  have  put  together  pretty  well  the  image 
of  our  excellent  Wakefield. 

"The  delineation  of  this  character  on  his  course  of  life  through  joys  and 
sorrows,  the  ever-increasing  interest  of  the  story,  by  the  combination  of 
the  entirely  natural  with  the  strange  and  the  singular,  make  this  novel  one 
of  the  best  which  has  ever  been  written ;  besides  this,  it  has  the  great  advan- 
tage that  it  is  quite  moral,  nay,  in  a  pure  sense,  Christian— represents  the 
reward  of  a  good-will  and  perseverance  in  the  right,  strengthens  an  uncondi- 
tional confidence  in  God,  and  attests  the  final  triumph  of  good  over  evil; 
and  all  this  witliout  a  trace  of  cant  or  pedantry.  The  author  was  preserved 
from  both  of  tliese  by  an  elocution  of  mind  that  shows  itself  throughout  in 
the  form  of  irony,  by  which  this  little  work  must  appear  to  us  as  wise  as  it 
is  amiable.  The  author,  Dr.  Goldsmith,  has,  without  question,  a  great  insight 
into  the  moral  world,  into  its  strength  and  its  infirmities;  but  at  the  same 
time  he  can  thankfully  acknowledge  that  he  is  an  Englishman,  and  reckon 
highly  the  advantages  which  his  country  and  his  nation  afford  him.  The 
family,  with  the  delineation  of  which  he  occupies  himself,  stands  upon  one 
of  the  last  steps  of  citizen  comfort,  and  yet  conies  in  contact  with  the 
highest;  its  narrow  circle,  which  becomes  still  more  contracted,  touches  upon 
the  great  world  through  the  natural  and  civil  course  of  things;  this  little 
skiff  floats  on  the  agitated  waves  of  English  life,  and  in  weal  or  woe  it  has 
to  expect  injury  or  help  from  the  vast  fleet  which  sails  around  it. 

"I  may  suppose  that  my  readers  know  this  work,  and  have  it  in  memory; 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH  377 

hamlet  in  Europe.  Not  one  of  us,  however  busy  or  hard, 
but  once  or  twice  in  our  lives  has  passed  an  evening  with 
him,  and  undergone  the  charm  of  his  delightful  music. 
Goldsmith's  father  was  no  doubt  the  good  Doctor 
Primrose,  whom  we  all  of  us  know.  ^  Swift  was  yet 
alive,  when  the  little  Oliver  was  born  at  Pallas,  or  Pal- 
lasmore,  in  the  count}^  of  Longford,  in  Ireland.  In 
1730,  two  years  after  the  child's  birth,  Charles  Gold- 
smith removed  his  family  to  Lissoy,  in  the  County  West- 
meath,  that  sweet  "Auburn"  which  every  person  who 
hears  me  has  seen  in  fancy.     Here  the  kind  parson^ 

whoever  hears  it  named  for  the  first  time  here,  as  well  as  he  who  is  induced 
to  read  it  again,  will  thank  me."— Goethe:  Truth  and  Poetry;  from  my  own 
Life.     (English  Translation,  vol.  1.  pp.  378,  379.) 

"  He  seems  from  infancy  to  have  been  compounded  of  two  natures,  one 
bright,  the  other  blundering;  or  to  have  had  fairy  gifts  laid  in  his  cradle  by 
the  '  good  people '  who  haunted  his  birthplace,  the  old  goblin  mansion  on  the 
banks  of  the  Inny. 

"  He  carries  with  him  the  wayward  elfin  spirit,  if  we  may  so  term  it, 
throughout  his  career.  His  fairy  gifts  are  of  no  avail  at  school,  academy,  or 
college:  they  unfit  him  for  close  study  and  practical  science,  and  render  him 
heedless  of  everything  that  does  not  address  itself  to  his  poetical  imagination 
and  genial  and  festive  feelings;  they  dispose  him  to  break  away  from  re- 
straint, to  stroll  about  hedges,  green  lanes,  and  haunted  streams,  to  revel 
with  jovial  companions,  or  to  rove  the  country  like  a  gipsy  in  quest  of  odd 

adventures 

"  Though  his  circumstances  often  compelled  him  to  associate  with  the 
poor,  they  never  could  betray  him  into  companionship  with  the  depraved. 
His  relish  for  humour,  and  for  the  study  of  character,  as  we  have  before 
observed,  brought  him  often  into  convivial  company  of  a  vulgar  kind;  but 
he  discriminated  between  their  vulgarity  and  their  amusing  qualities,  or 
rather  wrought  from  the  whole  store  familiar  features  of  life  which  form 
the  staple  of  his  most  popular  writings."— Washixgtox  Irvtng. 

^ "  The  family  of  Goldsmith,  Goldsmyth,  or,  as  it  was  occasionally  written, 
Gouldsmith,  is  of  considerable  standing  in  Ireland,  and  seems  always  to  have 
held  a  respectable  station  in  society.  Its  origin  is  English,  supposed  to  be 
derived  from  that  which  was  long  settled  at  Crayford  in  Kent."— Prior's 
Life    of    Goldsmith. 

Oliver's     father,     great-grandfather,    and     great-great-grandfather    were 
clergymen;  and  two  of  them  married  clergymen's  daughters. 
^ "  At  church,  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace, 
His  looks  adorn'd  tlie  venerable  place; 
Truth  from  his  lips  prevail'd  with  double  sway. 
And  fools  who  came  to  scoff  remain'd  to  pray. 
The  service  past,  around  the  pious  man. 
With  steady  zeal  each  honest  rustic  ran; 
E'en  children   follow'd  with  endearing  wile. 
And  pluck'd  his  gown  to  share  the  good  man's  smile. 


378  ENGLISH    HUMOURISTS 

brought  up  his  eight  children;  and  loving  all  the  world, 
as  his  son  says,  fancied  all  the  world  loved  him.  He  had 
a  crowd  of  poor  dependants  besides  those  hungry  chil- 
dren. He  kept  an  open  table ;  round  which  sat  flatterers 
and  poor  friends,  who  laughed  at  the  honest  rector's 
many  jokes,  and  ate  the  produce  of  his  seventy  acres 
of  farm.  Those  who  have  seen  an  Irish  house  in  the 
present  day  can  fancy  that  one  of  Lissoy.  The  old 
beggar  still  has  his  allotted  corner  by  the  kitchen  turf; 
the  maimed  old  soldier  still  gets  his  potatoes  and  butter- 
milk ;  the  poor  cottier  still  asks  his  honour's  charity,  and 
prays  God  bless  his  reverence  for  the  sixpence:  the 
ragged  pensioner  still  takes  his  place  by  right  and  suf- 
ferance. There's  still  a  crowd  in  the  kitchen,  and  a 
crowd  round  the  parlour-table,  profusion,  confusion, 
kindness,  poverty.  If  an  Irishman  comes  to  London  to 
make  his  fortune,  he  has  a  half-dozen  of  Irish  depen- 
dants who  take  a  percentage  of  his  earnings.  The  good 
Charles  Goldsmith^  left  but  little  provision  for  his 
hungry  race  when  death  summoned  him:  and  one  of  his 
daughters  being  engaged  to  a  Squire  of  rather  superior 
dignity,  Charles  Goldsmith  impoverished  the  rest  of  his 
family  to  provide  the  girl  with  a  dowry. 

His  ready  smile  a  parent's  warmth  exprest, 
Their  welfare  pleased  him,  and  their  cares  distrest; 
To  them  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs  were  given, 
But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  Heaven. 
As  some  tall  cliff  that  lifts  its  awful  form, 
Swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  leaves  the  storm. 
Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are  spread. 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head"— The  Deserted  Village. 
*"In  May  this  year  (1768),  he  lost  his  brother,  the  Rev.  Henry  Goldsmith, 

for  whom  he  had  been  unable  to  obtain  preferment  in  the  church 

".  .  .  To  the  curacy  of  Kilkenny  West,  the  moderate  stipend  of  which, 
forty  pounds  a  year,  is  sufficiently  celebrated  by  his  brother's  lines.  It  has 
been  stated  that  Mr.  Goldsmith  added  a  school,  which,  after  having  been 
held  at  more  than  one  place  in  the  vicinity,  was  finally  fixed  at  Lissoy.  Here 
his  talents  and  industry  gave  it  celebrity,  and  under  his  care  the  .sons  of 
many  of  the  neighbouring  gentry  received  their  education.     A  fever  break- 


STERNE   AND   GOLDSMITH  379 

The  small-pox,  which  scourged  all  Europe  at  that 
time,  and  ravaged  the  roses  off  the  cheeks  of  half  the 
world,  fell  foul  of  poor  little  Oliver's  face,  when  the 
child  was  eight  years  old,  and  left  him  scarred  and  dis- 
figured for  his  life.  An  old  woman  in  his  father's  vil- 
lage taught  him  his  letters,  and  pronounced  him  a 
dunce:  Paddy  Byrne,  the  hedge-schoolmaster,  took  him 
in  hand ;  and  from  Paddy  Byrne,  he  was  transmitted  to 
a  clergyman  at  Elphin.  When  a  child  was  sent  to  school 
in  those  days,  the  classic  phrase  was  that  he  was  placed 
under  Mr.  So-and-so's  ferule.  Poor  little  ancestors! 
It  is  hard  to  think  how  ruthlessly  you  were  birched ;  and 
how  much  of  needless  whipping  and  tears  our  small  fore- 
fathers had  to  undergo!  A  relative — kind  uncle  Con- 
tarine,  took  the  main  charge  of  little  Noll;  who  went 
through  his  school-days  righteously  doing  as  little  work 
as  he  could :  robbing  orchards,  playing  at  ball,  and  mak- 
ing his  pocket-money  fly  about  whenever  fortune  sent 
it  to  him.  Everybody  knows  the  story  of  that  famous 
"  Mistake  of  a  Night,"  when  the  young  schoolboy,  pro- 
vided with  a  guinea  and  a  nag,  rode  up  to  the  "best 
house"  in  Ardagh,  called  for  the  landlord's  company 
over  a  bottle  of  wine  at  supper,  and  for  a  hot  cake  for 
breakfast  in  the  morning;  and  found,  when  he  asked 
for  the  bill,  that  the  best  house  was  Squire  Feather- 
stone's,  and  not  the  inn  for  which  he  mistook  it.    Who 


ing  out  among  the  boys  about  1765,  they  dispersed  for  a  time,  but  re-assem- 
bling at  Athlone,  he  continued  his  scholastic  labours  there  until  the  time  of 
his  death,  which  happened,  like  that  of  his  brother,  about  the  forty-fifth  year 
of  his  age.  He  was  a  man  of  an  excellent  heart  and  an  amiable  disposition." 
— Priob's  Goldsmith. 

"  Where'er  I  roam,  whatever  realms  to  see. 
My  heart,  untravell'd,  fondly  turns  to  thee: 
Still  to  my  brother  turns  with  ceaseless  pain. 
And  drags  at  each  remove  a  lengthening  chain." 

—  The  Traveller, 


380  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

does  not  know  every  story  about  Goldsmith?  That  is  a 
dehghtful  and  fantastic  picture  of  the  child  dancing 
and  capering  about  in  the  kitchen  at  home,  when  the 
old  fiddler  gibed  at  him  for  his  ugliness,  and  called  him 
^sop;  and  little  Noll  made  his  repartee  of  "Heralds 
proclaim  aloud  this  saying— See  ^sop  dancing  and  his 
monkey  playing."  One  can  fancy  a  queer  pitiful  look 
of  humour  and  appeal  upon  that  little  scarred  face— 
the  funny  little  dancing  figure,  the  funny  little  brogue. 
In  his  life,  and  his  writings,  which  are  the  honest  ex- 
pression of  it,  he  is  constantly  bewailing  that  homely 
face  and  person ;  anon,  he  surveys  them  in  the  glass  rue- 
fully; and  presently  assumes  the  most  comical  dignity. 
He  likes  to  deck  out  his  little  person  in  splendour  and 
fine  colours.  He  presented  himself  to  be  examined  for 
ordination  in  a  pair  of  scarlet  breeches,  and  said  honestly 
that  he  did  not  like  to  go  into  the  church,  because  he  was 
fond  of  coloured  clothes.  When  he  tried  to  practise  as 
a  doctor,  he  got  by  hook  or  by  crook  a  black  velvet  suit, 
and  looked  as  big  and  grand  as  he  could,  and  kept  his  hat 
over  a  patch  on  the  old  coat:  in  better  days  he  bloomed 
out  in  plum-colour,  in  blue  silk,  and  in  new  velvet.  For 
some  of  those  splendours  the  heirs  and  assignees  of  Mr. 
Filby,  the  tailor,  have  never  been  paid  to  this  day:  per- 
haps the  kind  tailor  and  his  creditor  have  met  and  set- 
tled the  little  account  in  Hades.* 

They  showed  until  lately  a  window  at  Trinity  Col- 
lege, Dublin,  on  which  the  name  of  O.  Goldsmith  was 
engraved  with  a  diamond.     Whose  diamond  was  it? 

»"When  Goldsmith  died,  half  the  unpaid  bill  he  owed  to  Mr.  William 
Filby  (amounting  in  all  to  79/.)  was  for  clothes  supplied  to  this  nephew 
Hodson."  — Fokstek's  Goldsmith,  p.  520. 

As  this  nephew  Hodson  ended  his  days  (see  the  same  page)  "  a  prosperous 
Irish  gentleman,"  it  is  not  unreasonable  to  wish  that  he  had  cleared  off  Mr. 
Filby's  bill. 


STERNE    AND    GOLDSMITH  381 

Not  the  young  sizar's,  who  made  but  a  poor  figure  in 
that  place  of  learning.  He  was  idle,  penniless,  and  fond 
of  pleasure :  ^  he  learned  his  way  early  to  the  pawn- 
broker's shop.  He  wrote  ballads,  they  say,  for  the 
street  singers,  who  paid  him  a  crown  for  a  poem:  and 
his  pleasure  was  to  steal  out  at  night  and  hear  his  verses 
sung.  He  was  chastised  by  his  tutor  for  giving  a  dance 
in  his  rooms,  and  took  the  box  on  the  ear  so  much  to 
heart,  that  he  packed  up  his  all,  pawned  his  books  and 
little  property,  and  disappeared  from  college  and  fam- 
ily. He  said  he  intended  to  go  to  America,  but  when 
his  money  was  spent,  the  young  prodigal  came  home 
ruefully,  and  the  good  folks  there  killed  their  calf — 
it  was  but  a  lean  one — and  welcomed  him  back. 

After  college,  he  hung  about  his  mother's  house,  and 
lived  for  some  years  the  life  of  a  buckeen— passed  a 
month  with  this  relation  and  that,  a  year  with  one 
patron,  a  great  deal  of  time  at  the  public-house.^  Tired 
of  this  life,  it  was  resolved  that  he  should  go  to  London, 
and  study  at  the  Temple ;  but  he  got  no  farther  on  the 
road  to  London  and  the  woolsack  than  Dublin,  where 
he  gambled  away  the  fifty  pounds  given  to  him  for  his 
outfit,  and  whence  he  returned  to  the  indefatigable 
forgiveness  of  home.  Then  he  determined  to  be  a 
doctor,  and  uncle  Contarine  helped  him  to  a  couple  of 
years  at  Edinburgh.  Then  from  Edinburgh  he  felt 
that  he  ought  to  hear  the  famous  professors  of  Leyden 
and  Paris,  and  wrote  most  amusing  pompous  letters  to 

'  "  Poor  fellow !  He  hardly  knew  an  ass  from  a  mule,  nor  a  turkey  from 
a  goose,  but  when  he  saw  it  on  the  table."— Cumberlakd's  Memoirs. 

^"  These  youthful  follies,  like  the  fermentation  of  liquors,  often  disturb 
the  mind  only  in  order  to  its  future  refinement:  a  life  spent  in  phlegmatic 
apathy  resembles  those  liquors  which  never  ferment,  and  are  consequently 
always  muddy." — Goldsmith:  Memoir  of  Voltaire. 

"  He  [Johnson]  said  '  Goldsmith  was  a  plant  that  flowered  late.  There 
appeared  nothing  remarkable  about  him  when  he  was  young.' "—Boswell. 


382  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

his  uncle  about  the  great  Farheim,  Du  Petit,  and  Du- 
hamel  du  Monceau,  whose  lectures  he  proposed  to  fol- 
low. If  uncle  Contarine  believed  those  letters— if  Oli- 
ver's mother  believed  that  story  which  the  j^outh  related 
of  his  going  to  Cork,  with  the  purpose  of  embarking 
for  America,  of  his  having  paid  his  passage-money,  and 
having  sent  his  kit  on  board ;  of  the  anonymous  captain 
sailing  away  with  Oliver's  valuable  luggage,  in  a  name- 
less ship,  never  to  return;  if  uncle  Contarine  and  the 
mother  at  Ballymahon  believed  his  stories,  they  must 
have  been  a  very  simple  pair;  as  it  was  a  very  simple 
rogue  indeed  who  cheated  them.  When  the  lad,  after 
failing  in  his  clerical  examination,  after  failing  in  his 
plan  for  studying  the  law,  took  leave  of  these  projects 
and  of  his  parents,  and  set  out  for  Edinburgh,  he  saw 
mother,  and  uncle,  and  lazy  Ballymahon,  and  green 
native  turf,  and  sparkling  river  for  the  last  time.  He 
was  never  to  look  on  old  Ireland  more,  and  only  in  fancy 
revisit  her. 

"  But  me  not  destined  such  delights  to  share. 
My  prime  of  life  in  wandering  spent  and  care, 
Impelled,  with  steps  unceasing,  to  pursue 
Some  fleeting  good  that  mocks  me  with  the  view ; 
That  like  the  circle  bounding  earth  and  skies 
Allures  from  far,  yet,  as  I  follow,  flies : 
My  fortune  leads  to  traverse  realms  alone, 
And  find  no  spot  of  all  the  world  my  own." 

I  spoke  in  a  former  lecture  of  that  high  courage  which 
enabled  Fielding,  in  spite  of  disease,  remorse,  and  pov- 
erty, always  to  retain  a  cheerful  spirit  and  to  keep  his 
manly  benevolence  and  love  of  truth  intact,  as  if  these 
treasures  had  been  confided  to  him  for  the  pubHc  benefit. 


STERNE    AND    GOLDSMITH  383 

and  he  was  accountable  to  posterity  for  their  honour- 
able employ;  and  a  constancy  equally  happy  and  ad- 
mirable I  think  was  shown  by  Goldsmith,  whose  sweet 
and  friendly  nature  blooftied  kindly  always  in  the  midst 
of  a  life's  storm,  and  rain,  and  bitter  weather/  The 
poor  fellow  was  never  so  friendless  but  he  could  befriend 
some  one;  never  so  pinched  and  wretched  but  he  could 
give  of  his  crust,  and  speak  his  word  of  compassion.  If 
he  had  but  his  flute  left,  he  could  give  that,  and  make 
the  children  happy  in  the  dreary  London  court.  He 
could  give  the  coals  in  that  queer  coal-scuttle  we  read 
of  to  his  poor  neighbour :  he  could  give  away  his  blankets 
in  college  to  the  poor  widow,  and  warm  himself  as  he 
best  might  in  the  feathers:  he  could  pawn  his  coat  to 
save  his  landlord  from  gaol :  when  he  was  a  school-usher 
he  spent  his  earnings  in  treats  for  the  boys,  and  the 
good-natured  schoolmaster's  wife  said  justly  that  she 
ought  to  keep  Mr.  Goldsmith's  money  as  well  as  the 
young  gentlemen's.  When  he  met  his  pupils  in  later 
life,  nothing  would  satisfy  the  Doctor  but  he  must  treat 
them  still.  "  Have  you  seen  the  print  of  me  after  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds?"  he  asked  of  one  of  his  old  pupils. 
*'Not  seen  it?  not  bought  it?  Sure,  Jack,  if  your  pic- 
ture had  been  published,  I'd  not  have  been  without  it 
half-an-hour."  His  purse  and  his  heart  were  every- 
body's, and  his  friends'  as  much  as  his  own.  When  he 
was  at  the  height  of  his  reputation,  and  the  Earl  of 
Northumberland,  going  as  Lord  Lieutenant  to  Ireland, 

^"An  'inspired  idiot,'  Goldsmith,  liangs  strangely  about  him  [Johnson]. 
....  Yet,  on  the  whole,  there  is  no  evil  in  the  '  gooseberry-fool,'  but 
rather  much  good;  of  a  finer,  if  of  a  weaker  sort  than  Johnson's;  and  all 
the  more  genuine  that  he  himself  could  never  become  conscious  of  it, — 
though  unhappily  never  cease  attempting  to  become  so:  the  author  of  the 
genuine  '  Vicar  of  Wakefield,'  nill  he  will  be,  must  needs  fly  towards  such 
a  mass  of  genuine  manhood."— Carlyle's  Ettays  (2nd  ed.),  vol.  iv.  p.  91. 


384  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

asked  if  he  could  be  of  any  service  to  Dr.  Goldsmith, 
Goldsmith  recommended  his  brother,  and  not  himself, 
to  the  great  man.  "  My  patrons,"  he  gallantly  said,  "  are 
the  booksellers,  and  I  want  no  others."  ^  Hard  patrons 
they  were,  and  hard  work  he  did;  but  he  did  not  com- 
plain much:  if  in  his  early  writings  some  bitter  words 
escaped  him,  some  allusions  to  neglect  and  poverty,  he 
withdrew  these  expressions  when  his  works  were  re- 
published, and  better  days  seemed  to  open  for  him ;  and 
he  did  not  care  to  complain  that  printer  or  publisher  had 
overlooked  his  merit,  or  left  him  poor.  The  Court  face 
was  turned  from  honest  Oliver,  the  Court  patronized 
Beattie;  the  fashion  did  not  shine  on  him— fashion 
adored  Sterne.^     Fashion  pronounced  Kelly  to  be  the 

'  "  At  present,  the  few  poets  of  England  no  longer  depend  on  the  great 
for  subsistence;  they  have  now  no  other  patrons  but  the  public,  and  the 
public,  collectively  considered,  is  a  good  and  a  generous  master.  It  is  indeed 
too  frequently  mistaken  as  to  the  merits  of  every  candidate  for  favour; 
but  to  make  amends,  it  is  never  mistaken  long.  A  performance  indeed  may 
be  forced  for  a  time  into  reputation,  but,  destitute  of  real  merit,  it  soon 
sinks;  time,  the  touchstone  of  what  is  truly  valuable,  will  soon  discover  the 
fraud,  and  an  author  should  never  arrogate  to  himself  any  share  of  success 
till  his  works  have  been  read  at  least  ten  years  with  satisfaction. 

"  A  man  of  letters  at  present,  whose  works  are  valuable,  is  perfectly 
sensible  of  their  value.  Every  polite  member  of  the  community,  by  buying 
what  he  writes,  contributes  to  reward  him.  The  ridicule,  therefore,  or  living 
in  a  garret  might  have  been  wit  in  the  last  age,  but  continues  such  no  longer, 
because  no  longer  true.  A  writer  of  real  merit  now  may  easily  be  rich,  if 
his  heart  be  set  only  on  fortune;  and  for  those  who  have  no  merit,  it  is 
but  fit  that  such  should  remain  in  merited  obscurity."— Goldsmith  :  Citizen 
of  the  World,  Let.  84. 

*  Goldsmith  attacked  Sterne  obviously  enough,  censuring  his  indecencj% 
and  slighting  his  wit,  and  ridiculing  his  manner,  in  the  53rd  letter  in  the 
"Citizen  of  the  World." 

"  As  in  common  conversation,"  says  he,  "  the  best  way  to  make  the  audi- 
ence laugh  is  by  first  laughing  yourself;  so  in  writing,  the  properest  manner 
is  to  show  an  attempt  at  humour,  which  will  pass  upon  most  for  humour 
in  reality.  To  effect  this,  readers  must  be  treated  with  the  most  perfect 
familiarity;  in  one  page  the  author  is  to  make  tiiem  a  low  bow,  and  in  the 
next  to  pull  them  by  the  nose;  he  must  talk  in  riddles,  and  then  send  them 
to  bed  in  order  to  dream  for  the  solution,"  &c. 

Sterne's  humourous  mot  on  the  subject  of  the  gravest  part  of  the  charges, 
tlien,  as  now,  made  against  him,  may  perhaps  be  quoted  here,  from  the 
excellent,  the  respectable  Sir  Walter  Scott:— 

"  Soon  after  '  Tristram'  had  ajipeared,  Sterne  asked  a  Yorkshire  lady  of 
fortune  and  condition,  whetlier  she  had   read   iiis   book.     '  I   have  not,  Mr. 


STERNE   AND   GOLDSMITH  385 

great  writer  of  comedy  of  his  day.  A  little— not  ill- 
humour,  but  plaintiveness — a  little  betrayal  of  wounded 
pride  which  he  showed  render  him  not  the  less  amiable. 
The  author  of  the  "Vicar  of  Wakefield"  had  a  right 
to  protest  when  Newbery  kept  back  the  MS.  for  two 
years;  had  a  right  to  be  a  little  peevish  with  Sterne;  a 
little  angry  when  Colman's  actors  declined  their  parts 
in  his  delightful  comedy,  when  the  manager  refused  to 
have  a  scene  painted  for  it,  and  pronounced  its  damna- 
tion before  hearing.  He  had  not  the  great  public  with 
him;  but  he  had  the  noble  Johnson,  and  the  admirable 
Reynolds,  and  the  great  Gibbon,  and  the  great  Burke, 
and  the  great  Fox — friends  and  admirers  illustrious 
indeed,  as  famous  as  those  who,  fifty  years  before,  sat 
round  Pope's  table. 

Nobody  knows,  and  I  dare  say  Goldsmith's  buoyant 
temper  kept  no  account  of  all  the  pains  which  he  endured 
during  the  early  period  of  his  literary  career.  Should 
any  man  of  letters  in  our  day  have  to  bear  up  against 
such,  heaven  grant  he  may  come  out  of  the  period  of 
misfortune  with  such  a  pure  kind  heart  as  that  which 
Goldsmith  obstinately  bore  in  his  breast.  The  insults 
to  which  he  had  to  submit  are  shocking  to  read  of — 
slander,  contumely,  vulgar  satire,  brutal  malignity  per- 
verting his  commonest  motives  and  actions;  he  had  his 
share  of  these,  and  one's  anger  is  roused  at  reading  of 
them,  as  it  is  at  seeing  a  woman  insulted  or  a  child 
assaulted,  at  the  notion  that  a  creature  so  very  gentle 
and  weak,  and  full  of  love,  should  have  had  to  suffer 

Sterne,'  was  the  answer;  'and  to  be  plain  with  you,  I  am  informed  it  is 
not  proper  for  female  perusal.'  '  My  dear  good  lady,'  replied  the  author, 
'do  not  be  gulled  by  such  stories;  the  book  is  lil^e  your  young  heir  there' 
(pointing  to  a  child  of  three  years  old,  who  was  rolling  on  the  carpet  in 
his  white  tunic):  'he  shows  at  times  a  good  deal  that  is  usually  concealed, 
but  it  is  all  in  perfect  innocence.' " 


386  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

so.  And  he  had  worse  than  insult  to  undergo— to  own 
to  fault  and  deprecate  the  anger  of  ruffians.  There  is  a 
letter  of  his  extant  to  one  Griffiths,  a  bookseller,  in  which 
poor  Goldsmith  is  forced  to  confess  that  certain  books 
sent  by  Griffiths  are  in  the  hands  of  a  friend  from  whom 
Goldsmith  had  been  forced  to  borrow  money.  "He 
was  wild,  sir,"  Johnson  said,  speaking  of  Goldsmith  to 
Boswell,  with  his  great,  wise  benevolence  and  noble  mer- 
cifulness of  heart— "Dr.  Goldsmith  was  wild,  sir;  but 
he  is  so  no  more."  All!  if  we  pity  the  good  and  weak 
man  who  suffers  undeservedly,  let  us  deal  very  gently 
with  him  from  whom  misery  extorts  not  only  tears,  but 
shame ;  let  us  think  humbly  and  charitably  of  the  human 
nature  that  suffers  so  sadly  and  falls  so  low.  Whose 
turn  may  it  be  to-morrow?  What  weak  heart,  confi- 
dent before  trial,  may  not  succumb  under  temptation 
invincible?  Cover  the  good  man  who  has  been  van- 
quished—cover his  face  and  pass  on. 

For  the  last  half-dozen  years  of  his  life,  Goldsmith 
was  far  removed  from  the  pressure  of  any  ignoble  neces- 
sity: and  in  the  receipt,  indeed,  of  a  pretty  large  in- 
come from  the  booksellers  his  patrons.  Had  he  lived 
but  a  few  years  more,  his  public  fame  would  have  been 
as  great  as  his  private  reputation,  and  he  might  have 
enjoyed  alive  a  part  of  that  esteem  which  his  country 
has  ever  since  paid  to  the  vivid  and  versatile  genius  who 
has  touched  on  almost  every  subject  of  literature,  and 
touched  nothing  that  he  did  not  adorn.  Except  in  rare 
instances,  a  man  is  known  in  our  profession,  and  es- 
teemed as  a  skilful  workman,  years  before  the  lucky 
hit  which  trebles  his  usual  gains,  and  stamps  him  a  pop- 
ular author.  In  the  strength  of  his  age,  and  the  dawn 
of  his  reputation,  having  for  backers  and  friends  the 


STERNE    AND    GOLDSMITH  387 

most  illustrious  literary  men  of  his  time/  fame  and 
prosperity  might  have  been  in  store  for  Goldsmith,  had 
fate  so  willed  it ;  and,  at  forty-six,  had  not  sudden  disease 
carried  him  off.  I  say  prosperity  rather  than  com- 
petence, for  it  is  probable  that  no  sum  could  have  put 
order  into  his  affairs  or  sufficed  for  his  irreclaimable 
habits  of  dissipation.  It  must  be  remembered  that  he 
owed  2,000Z.  when  he  died.  "  Was  ever  poet,"  Johnson 
asked,  "  so  trusted  before? "  As  has  been  the  case  with 
many  another  good  fellow  of  his  nation,  his  life  was 
tracked  and  his  substance  wasted  by  crowds  of  hungry 
beggars  and  lazy  dependants.  If  they  came  at  a  lucky 
time  (and  be  sure  they  knew  his  affairs  better  than  he 
did  himself,  and  watched  his  pay-day),  he  gave  them 
of  his  money;  if  they  begged  on  empty-purse  days  he 
gave  them  his  promissory  bills :  or  he  treated  them  to  a 
tavern  where  he  had  credit;  or  he  obhged  them  with  an 
order  upon  honest  Mr.  Filby  for  coats,  for  which  he 
paid  as  long  as  he  could  earn,  and  until  the  shears  of 
Filby  were  to  cut  for  him  no  more.  Staggering  under 
a  load  of  debt  and  labour,  tracked  by  baihffs  and  re- 
proachful creditors,  running  from  a  hundred  poor  de- 
pendants, whose  appealing  looks  were  perhaps  the  hard- 
est of  all  pains  for  him  to  bear,  devising  fevered  plans 
for  the  morrow,  new  histories,  new  comedies,  all  sorts 
of  new  literary  schemes,  flying  from  all  these  into  seclu- 

*"  Goldsmith  told  us  that  he  was  now  busy  in  writing  a  Natural  History; 
and  that  he  might  have  full  leisure  for  it,  he  had  taken  lodgings  at  a 
farmer's  house,  near  to  the  six-mile  stone  in  the  Edgware  Road,  and  had 
carried  down  his  books  in  two  returned  postchaises.  He  said  he  believed 
the  farmer's  family  thought  him  an  odd  character,  similar  to  that  in  which 
the  Spectator  appeared  to  his  landlady  and  her  children;  he  was  The 
Gentleman.  Mr.  Mickle,  the  translator  of  the  '  Lusiad,'  and  I,  went  to 
visit  him  at  this  place  a  few  days  afterwards.  He  was  not  at  home;  but 
having  a  curiosity  to  see  his  apartment,  we  went  in,  and  found  curious 
scraps  of  descriptions  of  animals  scrawled  upon  the  wall  with  a  blacklead 
pencil."— BoswELL. 


388  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

sion,  and  out  of  seclusion  into  pleasure— at  last,  at  five 
and  forty,  death  seized  him  and  closed  his  career/  I 
have  been  many  a  time  in  the  chambers  in  the  Temple 
which  were  his,  and  passed  up  the  staircase,  which  John- 
son, and  Burke,  and  Reynolds  trod  to  see  their  friend, 
their  poet,  their  kind  Goldsmith— the  stair  on  which  the 
poor  women  sat  weeping  bitterly  when  they  heard  that 
the  greatest  and  most  generous  of  all  men  was  dead 
within  the  black  oak  door.^  Ah,  it  was  a  dilFerent  lot 
from  that  for  which  the  poor  fellow  sighed,  when  he 
wrote  with  heart  yearning  for  home  those  most  charm- 
ing of  all  fond  verses,  in  which  he  fancies  he  revisits 
Auburn — 

"  Here,  as  I  take  my  solitary  rounds. 
Amidst  thy  tangling  walks  and  ruined  grounds, 
And,  many  a  year  elapsed,  return  to  view 
Where  once  the  cottage  stood,  the  hawthorn  grew, 
Remembrance  wakes,  with  all  her  busy  train, 
Swells  at  my  breast,  and  turns  the  past  to  pain. 

>  "  When  Goldsmith  was  dying,  Dr.  Turton  said  to  him,  '  Your  pulse  is  in 
greater  disorder  than  it  should  be,  from  the  degree  of  fever  which  you  have; 
is  your  mind  at  ease?'  Goldsmith  answered  it  was  not."— Dr.  Johnsok 
(in  Boswell).  . 

"Chambers,  you  find,  is  gone  far,  and  poor  Goldsmith  is  gone  much 
further.  He  died  of  a  fever,  exasperated,  as  I  believe,  by  the  fear  of 
distress.  He  had  raised  money  and  squandered  it,  by  every  artifice  of 
acquisition  and  folly  of  expense.  But  let  not  his  failings  be  remembered; 
he  was  a  very  great  man."— Dr.  Johnson^  to  Boswell,  July  5th,  1774. 

'"When  Burke  was  told  [of  Goldsmith's  death]  he  burst  into  tears. 
Reynolds  was  in  his  painting-room  when  the  messenger  went  to  him;  but 
at  once  he  laid  his  pencil  aside,  which  in  times  of  great  family  distress  he 
had  not  been  known  to  do,  left  his  painting-room,  and  did  not  re-enter  it 
that  day 

"The  staircase  of  Brick  Court  is  said  to  have  been  filled  with  mourners, 
the  reverse  of  domestic;  women  without  a  home,  without  domesticity  of  any 
kind,  with  no  friend  but  him  they  had  come  to  weep  for;  outcasts  of  that 
great,  solitary,  wicked  city,  to  whom  he  had  never  forgotten  to  be  kind 
and  charitable.  And  he  had  domestic  mourners,  too.  His  coffin  was  re- 
opened at  the  request  of  Miss  Horneck  and  her  sister  (such  was  the  regard 
he  was  known  to  have  for  them!)  that  a  lock  might  be  cut  from  his  hair. 
It  was  in  Mrs.  Gwyn's  possession  when  she  died,  after  nearly  seventy 
years." — Fohsteb's  Ooldsmith, 


STERNE    AND    GOLDSMITH  389 

In  all  my  wanderings  round  this  world  of  care, 
In  all  my  griefs — and  God  has  given  my  share — 
I  still  had  hopes  my  latest  hours  to  crown, 
Amidst  these  humble  bowers  to  lay  me  down ; 
To  husband  out  life's  taper  at  the  close, 
And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting  by  repose ; 
I  still  had  hopes — for  pride  attends  us  still — 
Amidst  the  swains  to  show  my  book-learned  skill, 
Around  my  fire  an  evening  group  to  draw, 
And  tell  of  all  I  felt  and  all  I  saw; 
And,  as  a  hare,  whom  hounds  and  horns  pursue, 
Pants  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  he  flew — 
I  still  had  hopes — my  long  vexations  past. 
Here  to  return,  and  die  at  home  at  last. 

O  blest  retirement,  friend  to  life's  decline ! 
Retreats  from  care  that  never  must  be  mine — 
How  blest  is  he  who  crowns,  in  shades  like  these, 
A  youth  of  labour  with  an  age  of  ease ; 
Who  quits  a  world  where  strong  temptations  try. 
And,  since  'tis  hard  to  combat,  learns  to  fly ! 
For  him  no  wretches  born  to  work  and  weep 
Explore  the  mine  or  tempt  the  dangerous  deep ; 
No  surly  porter  stands  in  guilty  state 
To  spurn  imploring  famine  from  the  gate: 
But  on  he  moves  to  meet  his  latter  end, 
Angels  around  befriending  virtue's  friend; 
Sinks  to  the  grave  with  unperceived  decay, 
Whilst  resignation  gently  slopes  the  way; 
And  all  his  prospects  brightening  to  the  last, 
His  heaven  commences  ere  the  world  be  past." 

In  these  verses,  I  need  not  say  with  what  melody, 
with  what  touching  truth,  with  what  exquisite  beauty 
of  comparison — as  indeed  in  hundreds  more  pages  of 
the  writings  of  this  honest  soul— the  whole  character  of 


390  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

the  man  is  told— his  humble  confession  of  faults  and 
weakness;  his  pleasant  little  vanity,  and  desire  that  his 
village  should  admire  him;  his  simple  scheme  of  good 
in  which  everybody  was  to  be  happy — no  beggar  was 
to  be  refused  his  dinner — nobody  in  fact  was  to  work 
much,  and  he  to  be  the  harmless  chief  of  the  Utopia, 
and  the  monarch  of  the  Irish  Yvetot.  He  would  have 
told  again,  and  without  fear  of  their  failing,  those 
famous  jokes  ^  which  had  hung  fire  in  London;  he  would 

* "  Goldsmith's  incessant  desire  of  being  conspicuous  in  company  was  the 
occasion  of  his  sometimes  appearing  to  such  disadvantage,  as  one  should 
hardly  have  supposed  possible  in  a  man  of  his  genius.  When  his  literary 
reputation  had  risen  deservedly  high,  and  his  society  was  much  courted, 
he  became  very  jealous  of  the  extraordinary  attention  which  was  everywhere 
paid  to  Johnson.  One  evening,  in  a  circle  of  wits,  he  found  fault  with  me 
for  talking  of  Johnson  as  entitled  to  the  honour  of  unquestionable  superi- 
ority. '  Sir,'  said  he,  '  you  are  for  making  a  monarchy  of  what  should  be 
a  republic' 

"  He  was  still  more  mortified,  when,  talking  in  a  company  with  fluent 
vivacity,  and,  as  he  flattered  himself,  to  the  admiration  of  all  present,  a 
German  who  sat  next  him,  and  perceived  Johnson  rolling  himself  as  if  about 
to  speak,  suddenly  stopped  him,  saying,  '  Stay,  stay— Toctor  Shonson  is 
going  to  zay  zomething.'  This  was  no  doubt  verj^  provoking,  especially  to 
one  so  irritable  as  Goldsmith,  who  frequently  mentioned  it  with  strong 
expressions   of  indignation. 

"  It  may  also  be  observed  that  Goldsmith  was  sometimes  content  to  be 
treated  with  an  easy  familiarity,  but  upon  occasions  would  be  consequential 
and  important.  An  instance  of  this  occurred  in  a  small  particular.  John- 
son had  a  way  of  contracting  the  names  of  his  friends,  as  Beauclerk-  Beau; 

Boswell,  Bozzy I   remember  one  day,  when  Tom  Davies  was 

telling  that  Dr.  Johnson  said—'  We  are  all  in  labour  for  a  name  to  Ooldy's 
play,'  Goldsmith  seemed  displeased  that  such  a  liberty  should  be  taken  with 
his  name,  and  said,  '  I  have  often  desired  him  not  to  call  me  Gold}/.''  " 

This  is  one  of  several  of  Boswell's  depreciatory  mentions  of  Goldsmith — 
which  may  well  irritate  biographers  and  admirers— and  also  those  who  take 
that  more  kindly  and  more  profound  view  of  Boswell's  own  character,  which 
was  opened  up  by  Mr.  Carlyie's  famous  article  on  his  book.  No  wonder 
that  Mr.  Irving  calls  Boswell  an  "  incarnation  of  toadyism."  And  the  worst 
of  it  is,  that  Johnson  himself  has  suffered  from  this  habit  of  the  Laird 
of  Auchinleck's.  People  are  apt  to  forget  under  what  Boswellian  stimulus 
the  great  Doctor  uttered  many  hasty  things: — things  no  more  indicative  of 
the  nature  of  the  depths  of  his  character  than  the  phosphoric  gleaming  of 
the  sea,  when  struck  at  night,  is  indicative  of  radical  corruption  of  nature! 
In  truth,  it  is  clear  enough  on  the  whole  that  both  Johnson  and  Goldsmith 
appreciated  each  other,  and  that  they  mutually  knew  it.  They  were— as  it 
were,  tripped  up  and  flung  against  each  other,  occasionally,  by  the  blunder- 
ing and  silly  gambolling  of  people  in  company. 

Something  must  be  allowed  for  Boswell's  "  rivalry  for  Johnson's  good 
graces"  with  Oliver  (as  Sir  Walter  Scott  has  remarked),  for  Oliver  was 
intimate  with  the  Doctor  before  his  biographer  was,— and,  as  we  all  remem- 


STERNE  AND  GOLDSMITH  391 

have  talked  of  his  great  friends  of  the  Club — of  my 
Lord  Clare  and  my  Lord  Bishop,  my  Lord  Nugent — 
sure  he  knew  them  intimately,  and  was  hand  and  glove 
with  some  of  the  best  men  in  town — and  he  would  have 
spoken  of  Johnson  and  of  Burke,  and  of  Sir  Joshua 
who  had  painted  him — and  he  would  have  told  wonder- 
ful sly  stories  of  Ranelagh  and  the  Pantheon,  and  the 
masquerades  at  Madame  Cornelis';  and  he  would  have 
toasted,  with  a  sigh,  the  Jessamy  Bride — the  lovely 
Mary  Horneck. 

The  figure  of  that  charming  young  lady  forms  one  of 
the  prettiest  recollections  of  Goldsmith's  life.  She  and 
her  beautiful  sister,  who  married  Bunbury,  the  graceful 
and  humourous  amateur  artist  of  those  days,  when  Gil- 
ray  had  but  just  begun  to  try  his  powers,  were  among 
the  kindest  and  dearest  of  Goldsmith's  many  friends, 
cheered  and  pitied  him,  travelled  abroad  with  him,  made 
him  welcome  at  their  home,  and  gave  him  many  a  pleas- 
ant holiday.  He  bought  his  finest  clothes  to  figure  at 
their  country-house  at  Barton— he  wrote  them  droll 
verses.  They  loved  him,  laughed  at  him,  played  him 
tricks  and  made  him  happy.  He  asked  for  a  loan  from 
Garrick,  and  Garrick  kindly  supplied  him,  to  enable 
him  to  go  to  Barton:  but  there  were  to  be  no  more  holi- 
days, and  only  one  brief  struggle  more  for  poor  Gold- 
smith. A  lock  of  his  hair  was  taken  from  the  coffin 
and  given  to  the  Jessamy  Bride.  She  lived  quite  into 
our  time.     Hazlitt  saw  her  an  old  lady,  but  beautiful 

ber,  marched  off  with  him  to  "  take  tea  with  Mrs.  Williams  "  before  Boswell 
had  advanced  to  that  honourable  degree  of  intimacy.  But,  in  truth,  Boswell 
—though  he  perhaps  showed  more  talent  in  his  delineation  of  the  Doctor 
than  is  generally  ascribed  to  him— had  not  faculty  to  take  a  fair  view  of 
Iwo  great  men  at  a  time.  Besides,  as  Mr.  Forster  justly  remarks,  "he  was 
impatient  of  Goldsmith  from  the  first  hour  of  their  acquaintance."— Z/i/e 
and  Adventures,  p.  292. 


392  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

still,  in  Northcote's  painting-room,  who  told  the  eager 
critic  how  proud  she  always  was  that  Goldsmith  had 
admired  her.  The  younger  Colman  has  left  a  touching 
reminiscence  of  him.     Vol.  i.  63,  64. 

"  I  was  only  five  years  old,"  he  says,  "  when  Gold- 
smith took  me  on  his  knee  one  evening  whilst  he  was 
drinking  coffee  with  my  father,  and  began  to  play  with 
me,  which  amiable  act  I  returned,  with  the  ingratitude 
of  a  peevish  brat,  by  giving  him  a  very  smart  slap  on 
the  face :  it  must  have  been  a  tingler,  for  it  left  the  marks 
of  my  spiteful  paw  on  his  cheek.  This  infantile  out- 
rage was  followed  by  summary  justice,  and  I  was 
locked  up  by  my  indignant  father  in  an  adjoining  room 
to  undergo  solitary  imprisonment  in  the  dark.  Here 
I  began  to  howl  and  scream  most  abominably,  which 
was  no  bad  step  towards  my  liberation,  since  those  who 
were  not  inclined  to  pity  me  might  be  likely  to  set  me 
free  for  the  purpose  of  abating  a  nuisance. 

"At  length  a  generous  friend  appeared  to  extricate 
me  from  jeopardy,  and  that  generous  friend  was  no 
other  than  the  man  I  had  so  wantonly  molested  by  as- 
sault and  battery— it  was  the  tender-hearted  Doctor 
himself,  with  a  lighted  candle  in  his  hand,  and  a  smile 
upon  his  countenance,  which  was  still  partially  red  from 
the  effects  of  my  petulance.  I  sulked  and  sobbed  as  he 
fondled  and  soothed,  till  I  began  to  brighten.  Gold- 
smith seized  the  propitious  moment  of  returning  good- 
humour,  when  he  put  down  the  candle  and  began  to 
conjure.  He  placed  three  hats,  which  happened  to  be 
in  the  room,  and  a  shilling  under  each.  The  shillings 
he  told  me  were  England,  France,  and  Spain.  *  Hey 
presto  cockalorum!'  cried  the  Doctor,  and  lo,  on  un- 
covering the  shillings,  which  had  been  dispersed  each 


STERNE    AND    GOLDSMITH  393 

beneath  a  separate  hat,  they  were  all  found  congregated 
under  one.  I  was  no  politician  at  five  years  old,  and 
therefore  might  not  have  wondered  at  the  sudden  revo- 
lution which  brought  England,  France,  and  Spain  all 
under  one  crown;  but,  as  also  I  was  no  conjuror,  it 

amazed  me  beyond  measure From  that 

time,  whenever  the  Doctor  came  to  visit  my  father,  '  I 
plucked  his  gown  to  share  the  good  man's  smile ; '  a 
game  at  romps  constantly  ensued,  and  we  were  always 
cordial  friends  and  merry  playfellows.  Our  unequal 
companionship  varied  somewhat  as  to  sports  as  I  grew 
older ;  but  it  did  not  last  long :  my  senior  playmate  died 
in  his  forty-fifth  year,  when  I  had  attained  my  eleventh. 
In  all  the  numerous  accounts  of  his  vir- 
tues and  foibles,  his  genius  and  absurdities,  his  know- 
ledge of  nature  and  ignorance  of  the  world,  his  '  compas- 
sion for  another's  woe'  was  always  predominant;  and 
my  trivial  story  of  his  humouring  a  froward  child 
weighs  but  as  a  feather  in  the  recorded  scale  of  his 
benevolence." 

Think  of  him  reckless,  thriftless,  vain  if  you  like— 
but  merciful,  gentle,  generous,  full  of  love  and  pity. 
He  passes  out  of  our  life,  and  goes  to  render  his  account 
beyond  it.  Think  of  the  poor  pensioners  weeping  at  his 
grave;  think  of  the  noble  spirits  that  admired  and  de- 
plored him;  think  of  the  righteous  pen  that  wrote  his 
epitaph — and  of  the  wonderful  and  unanimous  response 
of  affection  with  which  the  world  has  paid  back  the  love 
he  gave  it.  His  humour  delighting  us  still:  his  song 
fresh  and  beautiful  as  when  first  he  charmed  with  it: 
his  words  in  all  our  mouths :  his  very  weaknesses  beloved 
and  familiar — his  benevolent  spirit  seems  still  to  smile 
upon  us :  to  do  gentle  kindnesses :  to  succour  with  sweet 


394  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

charity:  to  soothe,  caress,  and  forgive:  to  plead  with 
the  fortunate  for  the  unhappy  and  the  poor. 

His  name  is  the  last  in  the  list  of  those  men  of  humour 
who  have  formed  the  themes  of  the  discourses  which  you 
have  heard  so  kindly. 

Long  before  I  had  ever  hoped  for  such  an  audience, 
or  dreamed  of  the  possibility  of  the  good  fortune  which 
has  brought  me  so  many  friends,  I  was  at  issue  with 
some  of  my  literary  brethren  upon  a  point — which  they 
held  from  tradition  I  think  rather  than  experience— 
that  our  profession  was  neglected  in  this  country;  and 
that  men  of  letters  were  ill-received  and  held  in  slight 
esteem.  It  would  hardly  be  grateful  of  me  now  to  alter 
my  old  opinion  that  we  do  meet  with  good-will  and 
kindness,  with  generous  helping  hands  in  the  time  of  our 
necessity,  with  cordial  and  friendly  recognition.  What 
claim  had  any  one  of  these  of  whom  I  have  been  speak- 
ing, but  genius?  What  return  of  gratitude,  fame,  af- 
fection, did  it  not  bring  to  all? 

What  punishment  befell  those  who  were  unfortu- 
nate among  them,  but  that  which  follows  reckless  habits 
and  careless  lives?  For  these  faults  a  wit  must  suffer 
like  the  dullest  prodigal  that  ever  ran  in  debt.  He  must 
pay  the  tailor  if  he  wears  the  coat ;  his  children  must  go 
in  rags  if  he  spends  his  money  at  the  tavern;  he  can't 
come  to  London  and  be  made  Lord  Chancellor  if  he 
stops  on  the  road  and  gambles  away  his  last  shilling 
at  Dublin.  And  he  must  pay  the  social  penalty  of  these 
follies  too,  and  expect  that  the  world  will  shun  the  man 
of  bad  habits,  that  women  will  avoid  the  man  of  loose 
life,  that  prudent  folks  will  close  their  doors  as  a  pre- 
caution, and  before  a  demand  should  be  made  on  their 


STERNE    AND    GOLDSMITH  395 

pockets  by  the  needy  prodigal.  With  what  difficulty 
had  any  one  of  these  men  to  contend,  save  that  eternal 
and  mechanical  one  of  want  of  means  and  lack  of  capi- 
tal, and  of  which  thousands  of  young  lawyers,  young 
doctors,  young  soldiers  and  sailors,  of  inventors,  manu- 
facturers, shopkeepers,  have  to  complain?  Hearts  as 
brave  and  resolute  as  ever  beat  in  the  breast  of  any  wit 
or  poet,  sicken  and  break  daily  in  the  vain  endeavour 
and  unavailing  struggle  against  life's  difficulty.  Don't 
we  see  daily  ruined  inventors,  grey-haired  midshipmen, 
baulked  heroes,  blighted  curates,  barristers  pining  a 
hungry  life  out  in  chambers,  the  attorneys  never  mount- 
ing to  their  garrets,  whilst  scores  of  them  are  rapping 
at  the  door  of  the  successful  quack  below?  If  these 
suiFer,  who  is  the  author,  that  he  should  be  exempt? 
Let  us  bear  our  ills  with  the  same  constancy  with  which 
others  endure  them,  accept  our  manly  part  in  life,  hold 
our  own,  and  ask  no  more.  I  can  conceive  of  no  kings 
or  laws  causing  or  curing  Goldsmith's  improvidence,  or 
Fielding's  fatal  love  of  pleasure,  or  Dick  Steele's  mania 
for  running  races  with  the  constable.  You  never  can 
outrun  that  sure-footed  officer — not  by  any  swiftness 
or  by  dodges  devised  by  any  genius,  however  great;  and 
he  carries  off  the  Tatler  to  the  spunging-house,  or  taps 
the  Citizen  of  the  World  on  the  shoulder  as  he  would 
any  other  mortal. 

Does  society  look  down  on  a  man  because  he  is  an 
author?  I  suppose  if  people  want  a  buffoon  they  tol- 
erate him  only  in  so  far  as  he  is  amusing;  it  can  hardly 
be  expected  that  they  should  respect  him  as  an  equal. 
Is  there  to  be  a  guard  of  honour  provided  for  the  author 
of  the  last  new  novel  or  poem?  how  long  is  he  to  reign, 
and  keep  other  potentates  out  of  possession?    He  retires. 


396  ENGLISH   HUMOURISTS 

grumbles,  and  prints  a  lamentation  that  literature  is 
despised.  If  Captain  A.  is  left  out  of  Lady  B.'s  parties 
he  does  not  state  that  the  army  is  despised:  if  Lord  C. 
no  longer  asks  Counsellor  D.  to  dinner,  Counsellor  D. 
does  not  announce  that  the  bar  is  insulted.  He  is  not 
fair  to  society  if  he  enters  it  with  this  suspicion  hanker- 
ing about  him;  if  he  is  doubtful  about  his  reception, 
how  hold  up  his  head  honestly,  and  look  frankly  in  the 
face  that  world  about  which  he  is  full  of  suspicion?  Is 
he  place-hunting,  and  thinking  in  his  mind  that  he  ought 
to  be  made  an  Ambassador,  like  Prior,  or  a  Secretary 
of  State,  like  Addison?  his  pretence  of  equality  falls  to 
the  ground  at  once:  he  is  scheming  for  a  patron,  not 
shaking  the  hand  of  a  friend,  when  he  meets  the  world. 
Treat  such  a  man  as  he  deserves;  laugh  at  his  buffoon- 
ery, and  give  him  a  dinner  and  a  hon  jour;  laugh  at  his 
self-sufficiency  and  absurd  assumptions  of  superiority, 
and  his  equally  ludicrous  airs  of  martyrdom:  laugh  at 
his  flattery  and  his  scheming,  and  buy  it,  if  it's  worth 
the  having.  Let  the  wag  have  his  dinner  and  the  hire- 
ling his  pay,  if  you  want  him,  and  make  a  profound 
bow  to  the  grand  Jiomme  incompris,  and  the  boisterous 
martyr,  and  show  him  the  door.  The  great  world,  the 
great  aggregate  experience,  has  its  good  sense,  as  it  has 
its  good  humour.  It  detects  a  pretender,  as  it  trusts  a 
loyal  heart.  It  is  kind  in  the  main:  how  should  it  be 
otherwise  than  kind,  when  it  is  so  wise  and  clear-headed  ? 
To  any  literary  man  who  says,  "  It  despises  my  profes- 
sion," I  say,  with  all  my  might— no,  no,  no.  It  may 
pass  over  your  individual  case — liow  many  a  brave  fel- 
low has  failed  in  the  race,  and  perished  unknown  in  the 
struggle!— but  it  treats  you  as  you  merit  in  the  main. 
If  you  serve  it,  it  is  not  unthankful;  if  you  please,  it  is 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH  397 

pleased;  if  you  cringe  to  it,  it  detects  you,  and  scorns 
you  if  you  are  mean;  it  returns  your  cheerfulness  with 
its  good  humour;  it  deals  not  ungenerously  with  your 
weaknesses;  it  recognizes  most  kindly  your  merits; 
it  gives  you  a  fair  place  and  fair  play.  To  any  one  of 
those  men  of  whom  we  have  spoken  was  it  in  the  main 
ungrateful?  A  king  might  refuse  Goldsmith  a  pension, 
as  a  publisher  might  keep  his  masterpiece  and  the  delight 
of  all  the  world  in  his  desk  for  two  years;  but  it  was 
mistake,  and  not  ill-will.  Noble  and  illustrious  names 
of  Swift,  and  Pope,  and  Addison!  dear  and  honoured 
memories  of  Goldsmith  and  Fielding!  kind  friends, 
teachers,  benefactors!  who  shall  say  that  our  country, 
which  continues  to  bring  you  such  an  unceasing  tribute 
of  applause,  admiration,  love,  sympathy,  does  not  do 
honour  to  the  literary  calling  in  the  honour  which  it 
bestows  upon  you! 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOURS 

SEVERAL  charitable  ladies  of  this  city,  to  some  of 
whom  I  am  under  great  personal  obligation,  having 
thought  that  a  Lecture  of  mine  would  advance  a  benev- 
olent end  which  they  had  in  view,  I  have  preferred,  in 
place  of  delivering  a  Discourse,  which  many  of  my  hear- 
ers no  doubt  know  already,  upon  a  subject  merely 
literary  or  biographical,  to  put  together  a  few  thoughts 
which  may  serve  as  a  supplement  to  the  former  Lectures, 
if  you  like,  and  which  have  this  at  least  in  common  with 
the  kind  purpose  which  assembles  you  here,  that  they 
rise  out  of  the  same  occasion,  and  treat  of  charity. 

Besides  contributing  to  our  stock  of  happiness,  to  our 
harmless  laughter  and  amusement,  to  our  scorn  for 
falsehood  and  pretension,  to  our  righteous  hatred  of 
hypocrisy,  to  our  education  in  the  perception  of  truth, 
our  love  of  honesty,  our  knowledge  of  life,  and  shrewd 
guidance  through  the  world,  have  not  our  humourous 
writers,   our  gay   and  kind  weekday  preachers,   done 

*  This  lecture  was  first  delivered  in  New  York  on  behalf  of  a  charity  at 
the  time  of  Mr.  Thackeray's  visit  to  America  in  1852,  when  he  had  been 
giving  his  series  of  lectures  on  the  English  Humourists.  It  was  subse- 
quently repeated  with  slight  variations  in  London  (once  under  the  title  of 
"Weekday  Preachers")  for  the  benefit  of  the  families  of  Angus  B.  Reach 
and  Douglas  Jerrold.  The  lecture  on  behalf  of  the  Jerrold  Fund  was  given 
on  July  22,  1857,  the  day  after  the  declaration  of  the  poll  in  the  Oxford 
election,  when  Mr.  Thackeray  was  a  candidate  for  Parliament,  and  was  de- 
feated by  Mr.  Cardwell.  The  Times,  in  its  account  of  the  lecture,  says: 
"  The  opening  words  of  the  discourse,  uttered  with  a  comical  solemnity,  of 
which  Mr.  Thackeray  alone  is  capable,  ran  thus:— '  Walking  yesterday  in 
the  High  Street  of  a  certain  ancient  city.'  So  began  the  lecturer,  and  was 
interrupted  by  a  storm  of  laughter  that  deferred  for  some  moments  the 
completion  of  the  sentence." 

401 


402  CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR 

much  in  support  of  that  holy  cause  which  has  assembled 
you  in  this  place;  and  which  you  are  all  abetting — the 
cause  of  love  and  charity,  the  cause  of  the  poor,  the 
weak,  and  the  unhappy;  the  sweet  mission  of  love  and 
tenderness,  and  peace  and  good  will  towards  men? 
That  same  theme  which  is  urged  upon  you  by  the  elo- 
quence and  example  of  good  men  to  whom  you  are  de- 
lighted listeners  on  Sabbath-days,  is  taught  in  his  way 
and  according  to  his  power  by  the  humourous  writer, 
the  commentator  on  every-day  life  and  manners. 

And  as  you  are  here  assembled  for  a  charitable  pur- 
pose, giving  your  contributions  at  the  door  to  benefit 
deserving  people  who  need  them,  I  like  to  hope  and  think 
that  the  men  of  our  calling  have  done  something  in  aid  of 
the  cause  of  charity,  and  have  helped,  with  kind  words 
and  kind  thoughts  at  least,  to  confer  happiness  and  to 
do  good.  If  the  humourous  writers  claim  to  be  week- 
day preachers,  have  they  conferred  any  benefit  by  their 
sermons?  Are  people  happier,  better,  better  disposed 
to  their  neighbours,  more  inclined  to  do  works  of  kind- 
ness, to  love,  forbear,  forgive,  pity,  after  reading  in 
Addison,  in  Steele,  in  Fielding,  in  Goldsmith,  in  Hood, 
in  Dickens?  I  hope  and  believe  so,  and  fancy  that  in 
writing  they  are  also  acting  charitably,  contributing 
with  the  means  which  Heaven  supplies  them  to  forward 
the  end  which  brings  you  too  together. 

A  love  of  the  human  species  is  a  very  vague  and  in- 
definite kind  of  virtue,  sitting  very  easily  on  a  man,  not 
confining  his  actions  at  all,  shining  in  print,  or  explod- 
ing in  paragraphs,  after  which  efforts  of  benevolence, 
the  philanthropist  is  sometimes  said  to  go  home,  and  be 
no  better  than  his  neighbours.  Tartuffe  and  Joseph 
Surface,    Stiggins    and    Chadband,    who    are    always 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR  403 

preaching  fine  sentiments,  and  are  no  more  virtuous 
than  hundreds  of  those  whom  they  denounce  and  whom 
they  cheat,  are  fair  objects  of  mistrust  and  satire;  but 
their  hypocrisy,  the  homage,  according  to  the  old  say- 
ing, which  vice  pays  to  virtue,  has  this  of  good  in  it, 
that  its  fruits  are  good :  a  man  may  preach  good  morals, 
though  he  may  be  himself  but  a  lax  practitioner;  a 
Pharisee  may  put  pieces  of  gold  into  the  charity-plate 
out  of  mere  hypocrisy  and  ostentation,  but  the  bad  man's 
gold  feeds  the  widow  and  the  fatherless  as  well  as  the 
good  man's.  The  butcher  and  baker  must  needs  look, 
not  to  motives,  but  to  money,  in  return  for  their  wares. 

I  am  not  going  to  hint  that  we  of  the  Literary  calling 
resemble  Monsieur  TartufFe  or  Monsieur  Stiggins, 
though  there  may  be  such  men  in  our  body,  as  there  are 
in  all. 

A  literary  man  of  the  humouristic  turn  is  pretty  sure 
to  be  of  a  philanthropic  nature,  to  have  a  great  sensibil- 
ity, to  be  easily  moved  to  pain  or  pleasure,  keenly  to 
appreciate  the  varieties  of  temper  of  people  round 
about  him,  and  sympathise  in  their  laughter,  love,  amuse- 
ment, tears.  Such  a  man  is  philanthropic,  man-loving 
by  nature,  as  another  is  irascible,  or  red-haired,  or  six 
feet  high.  And  so  I  would  arrogate  no  particular  merit 
to  literary  men  for  the  possession  of  this  faculty  of  do- 
ing good  which  some  of  them  enjoy.  It  costs  a  gen- 
tleman no  sacrifice  to  be  benevolent  on  paper;  and  the 
luxury  of  indulging  in  the  most  beautiful  and  brilliant 
sentiments  never  makes  any  man  a  penny  the  poorer. 
A  literary  man  is  no  better  than  another,  as  far  as  my 
experience  goes ;  and  a  man  wTiting  a  book,  no  better  nor 
worse  than  one  who  keeps  accounts  in  a  ledger,  or  fol- 
lows any  other  occupation.    Let  us,  however,  give  him 


404  CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR 

credit  for  the  good,  at  least,  which  he  is  the  means  of 
doing,  as  we  give  credit  to  a  man  with  a  milHon  for  the 
hundred  which  he  puts  into  the  plate  at  a  charity- 
sermon.  He  never  misses  them.  He  has  made  them  in 
a  moment  by  a  lucky  speculation,  and  parts  with  them, 
knowing  that  he  has  an  almost  endless  balance  at  his 
bank,  whence  he  can  call  for  more.  But  in  esteeming 
the  benefaction,  we  are  grateful  to  the  benefactor,  too, 
somewhat;  and  so  of  men  of  genius,  richly  endowed, 
and  lavish  in  parting  with  their  mind's  wealth,  we  may 
view  them  at  least  kindly  and  favourably,  and  be 
thankful  for  the  bounty  of  which  Providence  has  made 
them  the  dispensers. 

I  have  said  myself  somewhere,  I  do  not  know  with 
what  correctness  (for  definitions  never  are  complete), 
that  humour  is  wit  and  love ;  I  am  sure,  at  any  rate,  that 
the  best  humour  is  that  which  contains  most  humanity, 
that  which  is  flavoured  throughout  with  tenderness  and 
kindness.  This  love  does  not  demand  constant  utter- 
ance or  actual  expression,  as  a  good  father,  in  conversa- 
tion with  his  children  or  wife,  is  not  perpetually  em- 
bracing them,  or  making  protestations  of  his  love;  as 
a  lover  in  the  society  of  his  mistress  is  not,  at  least  as  far 
as  I  am  led  to  believe,  for  ever  squeezing  her  hand,  or 
sighing  in  her  ear,  "My  soul's  darling,  I  adore  you!" 
He  shows  his  love  by  his  conduct,  by  his  fidelity,  b)^  his 
watchful  desire  to  make  the  beloved  person  happy;  it 
lightens  from  his  eyes  when  she  appears,  though  he  may 
not  speak  it;  it  fills  his  heart  when  she  is  present  or  ab- 
sent; influences  all  his  words  and  actions;  sufl'uses  his 
whole  being;  it  sets  the  father  cheerily  to  work  through 
the  long  day,  supports  him  through  the  tedious  labour 
of  the  weary  absence  or  journey,  and  sends  him  happy 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR  405 

home  again,  yearning  towards  the  wife  and  children. 
This  kind  of  love  is  not  a  spasm,  but  a  life.  It  fondles 
and  caresses  at  due  seasons,  no  doubt;  but  the  fond 
heart  is  always  beating  fondly  and  truly,  though  the 
wife  is  not  sitting  hand-in-hand  with  him,  or  the  children 
hugging  at  his  knee.  And  so  with  a  loving  humour:  I 
think,  it  is  a  genial  writer's  habit  of  being;  it  is  the  kind 
gentle  spirit's  way  of  looking  out  on  the  world — that 
sweet  friendliness,  which  fills  his  heart  and  his  style. 
You  recognise  it,  even  though  there  may  not  be  a  single 
point  of  wit,  or  a  single  pathetic  touch  in  the  page; 
though  you  may  not  be  called  upon  to  salute  his  genius 
by  a  laugh  or  a  tear.  That  collision  of  ideas,  which  pro- 
vokes the  one  or  the  other,  must  be  occasional.  They 
must  be  like  papa's  embraces,  which  I  spoke  of  anon, 
who  only  delivers  them  now  and  again,  and  cannot  be 
expected  to  go  on  kissing  the  children  all  night.  And 
so  the  writer's  jokes  and  sentiment,  his  ebullitions  of 
feeling,  his  outbreaks  of  high  spirits,  must  not  be  too 
frequent.  One  tires  of  a  page  of  which  every  sen- 
tence sparkles  with  points,  of  a  sentimentalist  who  is 
always  pumping  the  tears  from  his  eyes  or  your  own. 
One  suspects  the  genuineness  of  the  tear,  the  naturalness 
of  the  humour;  these  ought  to  be  true  and  manly  in  a 
man,  as  everything  else  in  his  life  should  be  manly  and 
true;  and  he  loses  his  dignity  by  laughing  or  weeping- 
out  of  place,  or  too  often. 

When  the  Reverend  Laurence  Sterne  begins  to  senti- 
mentalise over  the  carriage  in  Monsieur  Dessein's  court- 
yard, and  pretends  to  squeeze  a  tear  out  of  a  rickety 
old  shandrydan;  when,  presently,  he  encounters  the 
dead  donkey  on  his  road  to  Paris,  and  snivels  over  that 
asinine  corpse,  I  say:     "Away,  you  drivelHng  quack: 


406  CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR 

do  not  palm  off  these  grimaces  of  grief  upon  simple  folk 
who  know  no  better,  and  cry  misled  by  your  hypocrisy." 
Tears  are  sacred.  The  tributes  of  kind  hearts  to  mis- 
fortune, the  mites  which  gentle  souls  drop  into  the  col- 
lections made  for  God's  poor  and  unhappy,  are  not  to  be 
tricked  out  of  them  by  a  whimpering  hypocrite,  handing 
round  a  begging-box  for  your  compassion,  and  asking 
your  pity  for  a  lie.  When  that  same  man  tells  me  of 
Lef evre's  illness  and  Uncle  Toby's  charity ;  of  the  noble 
at  Rennes  coming  home  and  reclaiming  his  sword,  I 
thank  him  for  the  generous  emotion  which,  springing 
genuinely  from  his  own  heart,  has  caused  mine  to  admire 
benevolence  and  sympathise  with  honour;  and  to  feel 
love,  and  kindness,  and  pity. 

If  I  do  not  love  Swift,  as,  thank  God,  I  do  not,  how- 
ever immensely  I  may  admire  him,  it  is  because  I  revolt 
from  the  man  who  placards  himself  as  a  professional 
hater  of  his  own  kind;  because  he  chisels  his  savage  in- 
dignation on  his  tombstone,  as  if  to  perpetuate  his  pro- 
test against  being  born  of  our  race— the  suiFering,  the 
weak,  the  erring,  the  wicked,  if  you  will,  but  still  the 
friendly,  the  loving  children  of  God  our  Father:  it  is 
because,  as  I  read  through  Swift's  dark  volumes,  I  never 
find  the  aspect  of  nature  seems  to  delight  him;  the 
smiles  of  children  to  please  him;  the  sight  of  wedded 
love  to  soothe  him.  I  do  not  remember  in  any  line  of 
his  writing  a  passing  allusion  to  a  natural  scene  of 
beauty.  When  he  speaks  about  the  families  of  his  com- 
rades and  brother  clergymen,  it  is  to  assail  them  with 
gibes  and  scorn,  and  to  laugh  at  them  brutally  for  being 
fathers  and  for  being  poor.  He  does  mention  in  the 
Journal  to  Stella  a  sick  child,  to  be  sure— a  child  of 
Lady  Masham,  that  was  ill  of  the  small-pox— but  then 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR  407 

it  is  to  confound  the  brat  for  being  ill,  and  the  mother 
for  attending  to  it,  when  she  should  have  been  busy  about 
a  Court  intrigue,  in  which  the  Dean  was  deeply  en- 
gaged. And  he  alludes  to  a  suitor  of  Stella's,  and  a 
match  she  might  have  made,  and  would  have  made,  very 
likely,  with  an  honourable  and  faithful  and  attached 
man,  Tisdall,  who  loved  her,  and  of  whom  Swift  speaks 
in  a  letter  to  this  lady  in  language  so  foul  that  you 
would  not  bear  to  hear  it.  In  treating  of  the  good  the 
humourists  have  done,  of  the  love  and  kindness  they 
have  taught  and  left  behind  them,  it  is  not  of  this  one  I 
dare  speak.  Heaven  help  the  lonely  misanthrope!  be 
kind  to  that  multitude  of  sins,  with  so  little  charity  to 
cover  them ! 

Of  Mr.  Congreve's  contributions  to  the  English  stock 
of  benevolence,  I  do  not  speak ;  for,  of  any  moral  legacy 
to  posterity,  I  doubt  whether  that  brilliant  man  ever 
thought  at  all.  He  had  some  money,  as  I  have  told, 
every  shilling  of  which  he  left  to  his  friend  the  Duchess 
of  Marlborough,  a  lady  of  great  fortune  and  the  high- 
est fashion.  He  gave  the  gold  of  his  brains  to  persons 
of  fortune  and  fashion,  too.  There  is  no  more  feeling 
in  his  comedies  than  in  as  many  books  of  Euclid.  He 
no  more  pretends  to  teach  love  for  the  poor,  and  good 
will  for  the  unfortunate,  than  a  dancing-master  does; 
he  teaches  pirouettes  and  flic-flacs ;  and  how  to  bow  to  a 
lady,  and  to  walk  a  minuet.  In  his  private  life  Con- 
greve  was  immensely  liked— more  so  than  any  man  of 
his  age,  almost;  and,  to  have  been  so  liked,  must  have 
been  kind  and  good-natured.  His  good-nature  bore 
him  through  extreme  bodily  ills  and  pain,  with  uncom- 
mon cheerfulness  and  courage.  Being  so  gay,  so  bright, 
so  popular,  such  a  grand  seigneur,  be  sure  he  was  kind 


408  CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR 

to  those  about  him,  generous  to  his  dependants,  service- 
able to  his  friends.  Society  does  not  Hke  a  man  so  long 
as  it  liked  Congreve,  unless  he  is  likeable;  it  finds  out  a 
quack  very  soon;  it  scorns  a  poltroon  or  a  curmudgeon: 
we  may  be  certain  that  this  man  was  brave,  good-tem- 
pered, and  liberal ;  so,  very  likely,  is  Monsieur  Pirouette, 
of  whom  we  spoke;  he  cuts  his  capers,  he  grins,  bows, 
and  dances  to  his  fiddle.  In  private  he  may  have  a 
hundred  virtues;  in  public,  he  teaches  dancing.  His 
business  is  cotillons,  not  ethics. 

As  much  may  be  said  of  those  charming  and  lazy 
Epicureans,  Gay  and  Prior,  sweet  lyric  singers,  com- 
rades of  Anacreon,  and  disciples  of  love  and  the  bottle. 
**  Is  there  any  moral  shut  within  the  bosom  of  a  rose? " 
sings  our  great  Tennyson.  Does  a  nightingale  preach 
from  a  bough,  or  the  lark  from  his  cloud?  Not  know- 
ingly ;  yet  we  may  be  grateful,  and  love  larks  and  roses, 
and  the  flower-crowned  minstrels,  too,  who  laugh  and 
who  sing. 

Of  Addison's  contributions  to  the  charity  of  the 
world  I  have  spoken  before,  in  trying  to  depict  that 
noble  figure ;  and  say  now,  as  then,  that  we  should  thank 
him  as  one  of  the  greatest  benefactors  of  that  vast  and 
immeasurably  spreading  family  which  speaks  our  com- 
mon tongue.  Wherever  it  is  spoken,  there  is  no  man  that 
does  not  feel,  and  understand,  and  use  the  noble  Eng- 
lish word  "gentleman."  And  there  is  no  man  that 
teaches  us  to  be  gentlemen  better  than  Joseph  Addison. 
Gentle  in  our  bearing  through  life ;  gentle  and  courteous 
to  our  neighbour;  gentle  in  dealing  with  his  follies  and 
weaknesses;  gentle  in  treating  his  opposition;  deferen- 
tial to  the  old ;  kindly  to  the  poor,  and  those  below  us  in 
degree;  for  people  above  us  and  below  us  we  must  find, 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR  409 

in  whatever  hemisphere  we  dwell,  whether  kings  or  presi- 
dents govern  us;  and  in  no  republic  or  monarchy  that 
I  know  of,  is  a  citizen  exempt  from  the  tax  of  befriend- 
ing poverty  and  weakness,  of  respecting  age,  and  of 
honouring  his  father  and  mother.  It  has  just  been 
whispered  to  me— I  have  not  been  three  months  in  the 
country,  and,  of  course,  cannot  venture  to  express  an 
opinion  of  my  own— that,  in  regard  to  paying  this 
latter  tax  of  respect  and  honour  to  age,  some  very  few 
of  the  Republican  youths  are  occasionally  a  little  remiss. 
I  have  heard  of  young  Sons  of  Freedom  publishing 
their  Declaration  of  Independence  before  they  could 
well  spell  it ;  and  cutting  the  connection  with  father  and 
mother  before  they  had  learned  to  shave.  My  own 
time  of  life  having  been  stated,  by  various  enhghtened 
organs  of  pubhc  opinion,  at  almost  any  figure  from 
forty-five  to  sixty,  I  cheerfully  own  that  I  belong  to  the 
fogy  interest,  and  ask  leave  to  rank  in,  and  plead  for, 
that  respectable  class.  Now  a  gentleman  can  but  be  a 
gentleman,  in  Broadway  or  the  backwoods,  in  Pall  Mall 
or  California;  and  where  and  whenever  he  lives,  thou- 
sands of  miles  away  in  the  wilderness,  or  hundreds  of 
years  hence,  I  am  sure  that  reading  the  writings  of  this 
true  gentleman,  this  true  Christian,  this  noble  Joseph 
Addison,  must  do  him  good.  He  may  take  Sir  Roger 
de  Coverley  to  the  Diggings  with  him,  and  learn  to  be 
gentle  and  good-humoured,  and  urbane,  and  friendly  in 
the  midst  of  that  struggle  in  which  his  life  is  engaged. 
I  take  leave  to  say  that  the  most  brilliant  youth  of  this 
city  may  read  over  this  delightful  memorial  of  a  by- 
gone age,  of  fashions  long  passed  aAvay;  of  manners 
long  since  changed  and  modified;  of  noble  gentlemen, 
and  a  great,  and  a  brilliant  and  polished  society  and  find 


410  CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR 

in  it  much  to  charm  and  pohsh,  to  refine  and  instruct  him, 
a  courteousness  which  can  be  out  of  place  at  no  time, 
and  under  no  flag,  a  pohteness  and  simpHcity,  a  truthful 
manhood,  a  gentle  respect  and  deference,  which  may  be 
kept  as  the  unbought  grace  of  life,  and  cheap  defence  of 
mankind,  long  after  its  old  artificial  distinctions,  after 
periwigs,  and  small-swords,  and  ruffles,  and  red-heeled 
shoes,  and  titles,  and  stars  and  garters  have  passed  away. 
1  will  tell  you  when  I  have  been  put  in  mind  of  two  of 
the  finest  gentlemen  books  bring  us  any  mention  of.  I 
mean  our  books  (not  books  of  history,  but  books  of 
humour) .  I  will  tell  you  when  I  have  been  put  in  mind 
of  the  courteous  gallantry  of  the  noble  knight,  Sir  Roger 
de  Coverley  of  Coverley  Manor,  of  the  noble  Hidalgo 
Don  Quixote  of  La  Mancha :  here  in  your  own  omnibus- 
carriages  and  railway-cars,  when  I  have  seen  a  woman 
step  in,  handsome  or  not,  well  dressed  or  not,  and  a 
workman  in  hobnail  shoes,  or  a  dandy  in  the  height  of 
the  fashion,  rise  up  and  give  her  his  place.  I  think  Mr. 
Spectator,  with  his  short  face,  if  he  had  seen  such  a  deed 
of  courtesy,  would  have  smiled  a  sweet  smile  to  the  doer 
of  that  gentleman-like  action,  and  have  made  him  a  low 
bow  from  under  his  great  periwig,  and  have  gone  home 
and  written  a  pretty  paper  about  him. 

I  am  sure  Dick  Steele  would  have  hailed  him,  were 
he  dandy  or  mechanic,  and  asked  him  to  a  tavern  to  share 
a  bottle,  or  perhaps  half-a-dozen.  Mind,  I  do  not  set 
down  the  five  last  flasks  to  Dick's  score  for  virtue,  and 
look  upon  them  as  works  of  the  most  questionable 
supererogation. 

Steele,  as  a  literary  benefactor  to  the  world's  charity, 
must  rank  very  high  indeed,  not  merely  from  his  giv- 
ings,  which  were  abundant,  but  because  his  endo^^^nents 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR  411 

are  prodigiously  increased  in  value  since  he  bequeathed 
them,  as  the  revenues  of  the  lands,  bequeathed  to  our 
Foundling  Hospital  at  London,  by  honest  Captain 
Coram,  its  founder,  are  immensely  enhanced  by  the 
houses  since  built  upon  them.  Steele  was  the  founder  of 
sentimental  writing  in  English,  and  how  the  land  has 
been  since  occupied,  and  what  hundreds  of  us  have  laid 
out  gardens  and  built  up  tenements  on  Steele's  ground ! 
Before  his  time,  readers  or  hearers  were  never  called 
upon  to  cry  except  at  a  tragedy,  and  compassion  was  not 
expected  to  express  itself  otherwise  than  in  blank  verse, 
or  for  personages  much  lower  in  rank  than  a  dethroned 
monarch,  or  a  widowed  or  a  jilted  empress.  He  stepped 
off  the  high-heeled  cothurnus,  and  came  down  into  com- 
mon life;  he  held  out  his  great  hearty  arms,  and  em- 
braced us  all ;  he  had  a  bow  for  all  women ;  a  kiss  for  all 
children ;  a  shake  of  the  hand  for  all  men,  high  or  low ; 
he  showed  us  Heaven's  sun  shining  every  day  on  quiet 
homes;  not  gilded  palace-roofs  only,  or  Court  proces- 
sions, or  heroic  warriors  fighting  for  princesses,  and 
pitched  battles.  He  took  away  comedy  from  behind 
the  fine  lady's  alcove,  or  the  screen  where  the  libertine 
was  watching  her.  He  ended  all  that  wretched  business 
of  wives  jeering  at  their  husbands,  of  rakes  laughing 
wives,  and  husbands  too,  to  scorn.  That  miserable, 
rouged,  tawdry,  sparkling,  hollow-hearted  comedy  of  the 
Restoration  fled  before  him,  and,  like  the  wicked  spirit 
in  the  Fairy -books,  shrank,  as  Steele  let  the  dayhght  in, 
and  shrieked,  and  shuddered,  and  vanished.  The  stage 
of  humourists  has  been  common  life  ever  since  Steele's 
and  Addison's  time;  the  joys  and  griefs,  the  aversions 
and  sympathies,  the  laughter  and  tears  of  nature. 

And  here,  coming  off  the  stage,  and  throwing  aside 


412  CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR 

the  motley-habit,  or  satiric  disguise,  in  which  he  had 
before  entertained  you,  mingling  with  the  world,  and 
wearing  the  same  coat  as  his  neighbour,  the  humourist's 
service  became  straightway  immensely  more  available; 
his  means  of  doing  good  infinitely  multiplied;  his  suc- 
cess, and  the  esteem  in  which  he  was  held,  proportion- 
ately increased.  It  requires  an  effort,  of  which  all  minds 
are  not  capable,  to  understand  "Don  Quixote;"  chil- 
dren and  common  people  still  read  "Gulliver"  for  the 
story  merely.  Many  more  persons  are  sickened  by 
"  Jonathan  Wild  "  than  can  comprehend  the  satire  of  it. 
Each  of  the  great  men  who  wrote  those  books  was 
speaking  from  behind  the  satiric  mask  I  anon  men- 
tioned. Its  distortions  appal  many  simple  spectators; 
its  settled  sneer  or  laugh  is  unintelligible  to  thousands, 
who  have  not  the  wit  to  interpret  the  meaning  of  the 
vizored  satirist  preaching  from  within.  Many  a  man 
was  at  fault  about  Jonathan  Wild's  greatness,  who 
could  feel  and  relish  Allworthy's  goodness  in  "  Tom 
Jones,"  and  Doctor  Harrison's  in  "Amelia,"  and  dear 
Parson  Adams,  and  Joseph  AndrcM^s.  We  love  to  read 
— we  may  grow  ever  so  old,  but  we  love  to  read  of  them 
still— of  love  and  beauty,  of  frankness,  and  bravery, 
and  generosity.  We  hate  hypocrites  and  cowards;  we 
long  to  defend  oppressed  innocence,  and  to  soothe  and 
succour  gentle  women  and  children.  We  are  glad  when 
vice  is  foiled  and  rascals  punished;  we  lend  a  foot  to 
kick  Blifil  downstairs ;  and  as  we  attend  the  brave  bride- 
groom to  his  wedding  on  the  happy  marriage  day,  we 
ask  the  groomsman's  privilege  to  salute  the  blushing 
cheek  of  Sophia.  A  lax  morality  in  many  a  vital  point 
I  own  in  Fielding,  but  a  great  liearty  sympathy  and 
benevolence;  a  great  kindness  for  the  poor;   a  great 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR  413 

gentleness  and  pity  for  the  unfortunate;  a  great  love 
for  the  pure  and  good;  these  are  among  the  contribu- 
tions to  the  charity  of  the  world  with  which  this  erring 
but  noble  creature  endowed  it. 

As  for  Goldsmith,  if  the  youngest  and  most  unlet- 
tered person  here  has  not  been  happy  with  the  family 
at  Wakefield;  has  not  rejoiced  when  Olivia  returned, 
and  been  thankful  for  her  forgiveness  and  restoration; 
has  not  laughed  with  delighted  good-humour  over 
Moses's  gross  of  green  spectacles;  has  not  loved  with 
all  his  heart  the  good  Vicar,  and  that  kind  spirit  which 
created  these  charming  figures,  and  devised  the  benefi- 
cent fiction  which  speaks  to  us  so  tenderly— what  call 
is  there  for  me  to  speak?  In  this  place,  and  on  this 
occasion,  remembering  these  men,  I  claim  from  you 
your  sympathy  for  the  good  they  have  done,  and  for 
the  sweet  charity  which  they  have  bestowed  on  the  world. 

When  humour  joins  with  rhythm  and  music,  and  ap- 
pears in  song,  its  influence  is  irresistible,  its  charities  are 
countless,  it  stirs  the  feelings  to  love,  peace,  friendship, 
as  scarce  any  moral  agent  can.  The  songs  of  Beranger 
are  hymns  of  love  and  tenderness;  I  have  seen  great 
whiskered  Frenchmen  warbling  the  "Bonne  Vieille," 
the  "  Soldats,  au  pas,  au  pas,"  with  tears  rolling  down 
their  mustachios.  At  a  Burns's  Festival  I  have  seen 
Scotchmen  singing  Burns,  while  the  drops  twinkled  on 
their  furrowed  cheeks ;  while  each  rough  hand  was  flung 
out  to  grasp  its  neighbour's ;  while  early  scenes  and  sacred 
recollections,  and  dear  and  dehghtful  memories  of  the 
past  came  rushing  back  at  the  sound  of  the  familiar 
words  and  music,  and  the  softened  heart  was  full  of  love, 
and  friendship,  and  home.  Humour!  if  tears  are  the 
alms  of  gentle  spirits,  and  may  be  counted,  as  sure  they 


414  CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR 

may,  among  the  sweetest  of  life's  charities,— of  that 
kindly  sensibility,  and  sweet  sudden  emotion,  which  ex- 
hibits itself  at  the  eyes,  I  know  no  such  provocative  as 
humour.  It  is  an  irresistible  sympathiser;  it  surprises 
you  into  compassion:  you  are  laughing  and  disarmed, 
and  suddenly  forced  into  tears.  I  heard  a  humourous 
balladist,  not  long  since,  a  minstrel  with  wool  on  his  head, 
and  an  ultra-Ethiopian  complexion,  who  performed  a 
negro  ballad  that  I  confess  moistened  these  spectacles 
in  the  most  unexpected  manner.  They  have  gazed  at 
dozens  of  tragedy-queens,  dying  on  the  stage,  and  ex- 
piring in  appropriate  blank  verse,  and  I  never  wanted  to 
wipe  them.  They  have  looked  up,  with  deep  respect  be 
it  said,  at  many  scores  of  clergymen  in  pulpits,  and  with- 
out being  dimmed ;  and  behold  a  vagabond  with  a  corked 
face  and  a  banjo  sings  a  little  song,  strikes  a  wild  note 
which  sets  the  whole  heart  thrilling  with  happy  pity. 
Humour !  humour  is  the  mistress  of  tears ;  she  knows  the 
way  to  the  fons  lachrymarum,  strikes  in  dry  and  rugged 
places  with  her  enchanting  wand,  and  bids  the  fountain 
gush  and  sparkle.  She  has  refreshed  myriads  more  from 
her  natural  springs  than  ever  tragedy  has  watered  from 
her  pompous  old  urn. 

Popular  humour,  and  especially  modern  popular  hu- 
mour, and  the  writers,  its  exponents,  are  always  kind  and 
chivalrous,  taking  the  side  of  the  weak  against  the 
strong.  In  our  plays,  and  books,  and  entertainments 
for  the  lower  classes  in  England,  I  scarce  remember  a 
story  or  theatrical  piece  in  which  a  wicked  aristocrat  is 
not  bepummelled  by  a  dashing  young  champion  of  the 
people.  There  was  a  book  which  had  an  immense  popu- 
larity in  England,  and  I  believe  has  been  greatly  read 
here,  in  which  the  Mysteries  of  the  Court  of  London 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR  415 

were  said  to  be  unveiled  by  a  gentleman  who,  I  suspect, 
knows  about  as  much  about  the  Court  of  London  as  he 
does  of  that  of  Pekin.  Years  ago  I  treated  myself  to 
sixpennyworth  of  this  performance  at  a  railway  station, 
and  found  poor  dear  George  IV.,  our  late  most  religious 
and  gracious  king,  occupied  in  the  most  flagitious  de- 
signs against  the  tradesmen's  families  in  his  metropoli- 
tan city.  A  couple  of  years  after,  I  took  sixpennyworth 
more  of  the  same  delectable  history:  George  IV.  was 
still  at  work,  still  ruining  the  peace  of  tradesmen's  fam- 
ilies ;  he  had  been  at  it  for  two  whole  years,  and  a  book- 
seller at  the  Brighton  station  told  me  that  this  book  was 
by  many  many  times  the  most  popular  of  all  periodical 
tales  then  published,  because,  says  he,  "  it  lashes  the  aris- 
tocracy ! "  Not  long  since  I  went  to  two  penny  theatres 
in  London;  immense  eager  crowds  of  people  thronged 
the  buildings,  and  the  vast  masses  thrilled  and  vibrated 
with  the  emotion  produced  by  the  piece  represented  on 
the  stage,  and  burst  into  applause  or  laughter,  such  as 
many  a  polite  actor  would  sigh  for  in  vain.  In  both 
these  pieces  there  was  a  wicked  Lord  kicked  out  of  the 
window— there  is  always  a  wicked  Lord  kicked  out  of 
the  window.  First  piece:— "Domestic  drama— Thrill- 
ing interest!— Weaver's  family  in  distress!— Fanny 
gives  away  her  bread  to  little  Jacky,  and  starves!— En- 
ter wicked  Lord :  tempts  Fanny  with  offer  of  Diamond 
Necklace,  Champagne  Suppers,  and  Coach  to  ride  in!— 
Enter  sturdy  Blacksmith.— Scuffle  between  Blacksmith 
and  Aristocratic  minion:  exit  wicked  Lord  out  of  the 
window."  Fanny,  of  course,  becomes  Mrs.  Blacksmith. 
The  second  piece  was  a  nautical  drama,  also  of  thrill- 
ing interest,  consisting  chiefly  of  hornpipes,  and  acts  of 
most  tremendous  oppression  on  the  part  of  certain  Earls 


416  CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR 

and  Magistrates  towards  the  people.  Two  wicked  Lords 
were  in  this  piece  the  atrocious  scoundrels:  one  Aristo- 
crat, a  deep-dyed  villain,  in  short  duck  trousers  and  Berlin 
cotton  gloves;  while  the  other  minion  of  wealth  enjoyed 
an  eyeglass  with  a  blue  ribbon,  and  whisked  about  the 
stage  with  a  penny  cane.  Having  made  away  with 
Fanny  Forester's  lover,  Tom  Bowling,  by  means  of  a 
pressgang,  they  meet  her  all  alone  on  a  common,  and 
subject  her  to  the  most  opprobrious  language  and  be- 
haviour: "Release  me,  villains!"  says  Fanny,  pulhng 
a  brace  of  pistols  out  of  her  pockets,  and  crossing  them 
over  her  breast  so  as  to  cover  wicked  Lord  to  the  right, 
wicked  Lord  to  the  left;  and  they  might  have  remained 
in  that  position  ever  so  much  longer  (for  the  aristocratic 
rascals  had  pistols  too),  had  not  Tom  Bowling  returned 
from  sea  at  the  very  nick  of  time,  armed  with  a  great 
marlinespike,  with  which — whack!  whack!  down  goes 
wicked  Lord  No.  1 — wicked  Lord  No.  2.  Fanny  rushes 
into  Tom's  arms  with  an  hysterical  shriek,  and  I  dare 
say  they  marry,  and  are  very  happy  ever  after.  Pop- 
ular fun  is  always  kind :  it  is  the  champion  of  the  humble 
against  the  great.  In  all  popular  parables,  it  is  Little 
Jack  that  conquers,  and  the  Giant  that  topples  down.  I 
think  our  popular  authors  are  rather  hard  upon  the 
great  folks.  Well,  well!  their  lordships  have  all  the 
money,  and  can  afford  to  be  laughed  at. 

In  our  days,  in  England,  the  importance  of  the  hu- 
mourous preacher  has  prodigiously  increased;  his  audi- 
ences are  enormous;  every  week  or  month  his  happy 
congregations  flock  to  him;  they  never  tire  of  such 
sermons.  I  believe  my  friend  ]\Ir.  Punch  is  as  popular 
to-day  as  he  has  been  any  day  since  his  birth;  I  believe 
that  Mr.  Dickens's  readers  are  even  more  numerous 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR  417 

than  they  have  ever  been  since  his  unrivalled  pen 
commenced  to  delight  the  world  with  its  humour.  We 
have  among  us  other  literary  parties;  we  have  Punch, 
as  I  have  said,  preaching  from  his  booth;  we  have 
a  Jerrold  party  very  numerous,  and  faithful  to  that 
acute  thinker  and  distinguished  wit;  and  we  have 
also— it  must  be  said,  and  it  is  still  to  be  hoped— a 
Vanity-Fair  party,  the  author  of  which  work  has 
lately  been  described  by  the  London  Times  news- 
paper as  a  writer  of  considerable  parts,  but  a  dreary 
misanthrope,  who  sees  no  good  anywhere,  who  sees  the 
sky  above  him  green,  I  think,  instead  of  blue,  and  only 
miserable  sinners  round  about  him.  So  we  are;  so  is 
every  writer  and  every  reader  I  ever  heard  of;  so  was 
every  being  who  ever  trod  this  earth,  save  One.  I  can- 
not help  telling  the  truth  as  I  view  it,  and  describing 
what  I  see.  To  describe  it  otherwise  than  it  seems  to 
me  would  be  falsehood  in  that  calling  in  which  it  has 
pleased  Heaven  to  place  me;  treason  to  that  conscience 
which  says  that  men  are  weak;  that  truth  must  be  told; 
that  fault  must  be  owned;  that  pardon  must  be  prayed 
for ;  and  that  love  reigns  supreme  over  all. 

I  look  back  at  the  good  which  of  late  years  the  kind 
English  Humourists  have  done ;  and  if  you  are  pleased 
to  rank  the  present  speaker  among  that  class,  I  own  to 
an  honest  pride  at  thinking  what  benefits  society  has 
derived  from  men  of  our  calling.  That  "  Song  of  the 
Shirt,"  which  Punch  first  published,  and  the  noble,  the 
suffering,  the  melancholy,  the  tender  Hood  sang,  may 
surely  rank  as  a  great  act  of  charity  to  the  world,  and 
call  from  it  its  thanks  and  regard  for  its  teacher  and 
benefactor.  That  astonishing  poem,  which  you  all  know, 
of  the  "  Bridge  of  Sighs,"  who  can  read  it  without  ten- 


418  CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR 

derness,  without  reverence  to  Heaven,  charity,  to  man, 
and  thanks  to  the  beneficent  genius  which  sang  for  us 
nobly? 

I  never  saw  the  writer  but  once;  but  shall  always  be 
glad  to  think  that  some  words  of  mine,  printed  in  a 
periodical  of  that  day,  and  in  praise  of  these  amazing 
verses  (which,  strange  to  say,  appeared  almost  unno- 
ticed at  first  in  the  magazine  in  which  Mr.  Hood  pub- 
lished them)  —I  am  proud,  I  say,  to  think  that  some 
words  of  appreciation  of  mine  reached  him  on  his  death- 
bed, and  pleased  and  soothed  him  in  that  hour  of  man- 
ful resignation  and  pain. 

As  for  the  charities  of  Mr.  Dickens,  multiplied  kind- 
nesses which  he  has  conferred  upon  us  all;  upon  our 
children;  upon  people  educated  and  uneducated;  upon 
the  myriads  here  and  at  home,  who  speak  our  common 
tongue;  have  not  you,  have  not  I,  all  of  us  reason  to 
be  thankful  to  this  kind  friend,  who  soothed  and  charmed 
so  many  hours,  brought  pleasure  and  sweet  laughter  to 
so  many  homes;  made  such  multitudes  of  children 
happy;  endowed  us  with  such  a  sweet  store  of  gracious 
thoughts,  fair  fancies,  soft  sympathies,  hearty  enjoy- 
ments? There  are  creations  of  Mr.  Dickens's  which 
seem  to  me  to  rank  as  personal  benefits;  figures  so  de- 
lightful, that  one  feels  happier  and  better  for  knowing 
them,  as  one  does  for  being  brought  into  the  society 
of  very  good  men  and  women.  The  atmosphere  in  which 
these  people  live  is  wholesome  to  breathe  in;  you  feel 
that  to  be  allowed  to  speak  to  them  is  a  personal  kind- 
ness ;  you  come  away  better  for  your  contact  with  them ; 
your  hands  seem  cleaner  from  having  the  privilege  of 
shaking  theirs.  Was  there  ever  a  better  charity  sermon 
preached    in    the    world    than    Dickens's    "  Christmas 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR  419 

Carol "  ?  I  believe  it  occasioned  immense  hospitality 
throughout  England;  was  the  means  of  lighting  up 
hundreds  of  kind  fires  at  Christmas  time ;  caused  a  won- 
derful outpouring  of  Christmas  good  feeling ;  of  Christ- 
mas punch-brewing;  an  awful  slaughter  of  Christmas 
turkeys,  and  roasting  and  basting  of  Christmas  beef. 
As  for  this  man's  love  of  children,  that  amiable  organ 
at  the  back  of  his  honest  head  must  be  perfectly  mon- 
strous. All  children  ought  to  love  him.  I  know  two 
that  do,  and  read  his  books  ten  times  for  once  that  they 
peruse  the  dismal  preachments  of  their  father.  I  know 
one  who,  when  she  is  happy,  reads  "  Nicholas  Nickleby ;" 
when  she  is  unhappy,  reads  "  Nicholas  Nickleby;"  when 
she  is  tired,  reads  "Nicholas  Nickleby;"  when  she  is  in 
bed,  reads  "Nicholas  Nickleby;"  when  she  has  nothing 
to  do,  reads  "Nicholas  Nickleby;"  and  when  she  has 
finished  the  book,  reads  "Nicholas  Nickleby"  over 
again.  This  candid  young  critic,  at  ten  years  of  age, 
said,  "  I  like  Mr.  Dickens's  books  much  better  than  your 
books,  papa;"  and  frequently  expressed  her  desire  that 
the  latter  author  should  write  a  book  like  one  of  Mr. 
Dickens's  books.  Who  can?  Every  man  must  say  his 
own  thoughts  in  his  own  voice,  in  his  own  way;  lucky 
is  he  who  has  such  a  charming  gift  of  nature  as  this, 
which  brings  all  the  children  in  the  world  trooping  to 
him,  and  being  fond  of  him. 

I  remember,  when  that  famous  "  Nicholas  Nickleby  " 
came  out,  seeing  a  letter  from  a  pedagogue  in  the  north 
of  England,  which,  dismal  as  it  was,  was  immensely 
comical.  "  Mr.  Dickens's  ill-advised  pubhcation,"  wrote 
the  poor  schoolmaster,  "has  passed  like  a  whirlwind 
over  the  schools  of  the  North."  He  was  a  proprietor 
of  a  cheap  school;  Dotheboys  Hall  was  a  cheap  school. 


420  CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR 

There  were  many  such  establishments  in  the  northern 
counties.  Parents  were  ashamed  that  never  were 
ashamed  before  until  the  kind  satirist  laughed  at  them; 
relatives  were  frightened;  scores  of  little  scholars  were 
taken  away;  poor  schoolmasters  had  to  shut  their  shops 
up;  every  pedagogue  was  voted  a  Squeers,  and  many 
suffered,  no  doubt  unjustlj^;  but  afterwards  schoolboys' 
backs  were  not  so  much  caned;  schoolboys'  meat  was 
less  tough  and  more  plentiful ;  and  schoolboys'  milk  was 
not  so  sky-blue.  What  a  kind  light  of  benevolence  it  is 
that  plays  round  Crummies  and  the  Phenomenon,  and 
all  those  poor  theatre  people  in  that  charming  book! 
What  a  humour!  and  what  a  good-humour!  I  coincide 
with  the  youthful  critic,  whose  opinion  has  just  been 
mentioned,  and  own  to  a  family  admiration  for  "  Nich- 
olas Nickleby." 

One  might  go  on,  though  the  task  would  be  endless 
and  needless,  chronichng  the  names  of  kind  folk  with 
whom  this  kind  genius  has  made  us  familiar.  Who  does 
not  love  the  Marchioness,  and  Mr.  Richard  Swiveller? 
Who  does  not  sympathise,  not  only  with  Oliver  Twist, 
but  his  admirable  young  friend  the  Artful  Dodger? 
Who  has  not  the  inestimable  advantage  of  possessing  a 
Mrs.  Nickleby  in  his  own  family?  Who  does  not  bless 
Sairey  Gamp  and  wonder  at  Mrs.  Harris?  Who  does 
not  venerate  the  chief  of  that  illustrious  family  who, 
being  stricken  by  misfortune,  wisely  and  greatly  turned 
his  attention  to  "coals,"  the  accomplished,  the  Epicu- 
rean, the  dirt5%  the  delightful  Micawber? 

I  may  quarrel  with  Mr.  Dickens's  art  a  thousand  and 
a  thousand  times,  I  delight  and  wonder  at  his  genius; 
I  recognise  in  it — I  speak  with  awe  and  reverence — a 
commission  from  that  Divine  Beneficence,  whose  blessed 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOUR  421 

task  we  know  it  will  one  day  be  to  wipe  every  tear  from 
every  eye.  Thankfully  I  take  my  share  of  the  feast  of 
love  and  kindness  which  this  gentle,  and  generous,  and 
charitable  soul  has  contributed  to  the  happiness  of  the 
world.  I  take  and  enjoy  my  share,  and  say  a  Benedic- 
tion for  the  meal. 


REVIEWS 

GEORGE  CRUIKSHANK 
JOHN  LEECH 


GEORGE  CRUIKSHANK.i 

ACCUSATIONS  of  ingratitude,  and  just  accusa- 
JLJL  tions  no  doubt,  are  made  against  every  inhabitant 
of  this  wicked  world,  and  the  fact  is,  that  a  man  who  is 
ceaselessly  engaged  in  its  trouble  and  turmoil,  borne 
hither  and  thither  upon  the  fierce  waves  of  the  crowd, 
bustling,  shifting,  struggling  to  keep  himself  somewhat 
above  water— fighting  for  reputation,  or  more  likely  for 
bread,  and  ceaselessly  occupied  to-day  with  plans  for  ap- 
peasing the  eternal  appetite  of  inevitable  hunger  to-mor- 
row—a man  in  such  straits  has  hardly  time  to  think  of 
anything  but  himself,  and,  as  in  a  sinking  ship,  must 
make  his  own  rush  for  the  boats,  and  fight,  struggle, 
and  trample  for  safety.  In  the  midst  of  such  a  combat 
as  this,  the  "  ingenious  arts,  which  prevent  the  ferocity 
of  the  manners,  and  act  upon  them  as  an  emollient "  (as 
the  philosophic  bard  remarks  in  the  Latin  Grammar) 
are  likely  to  be  jostled  to  death,  and  then  forgotten. 
The  world  will  allow  no  such  compromises  between  it 
and  that  which  does  not  belong  to  it— no  two  gods  must 
we  serve;  but  (as  one  has  seen  in  some  old  portraits)  the 
horrible  glazed  eyes  of  Necessity  are  always  fixed  upon 
you;  fly  away  as  you  will,  black  Care  sits  behind  you, 
and  with  his  ceaseless  gloomy  croaking  drowns  the  voice 
of  all  more  cheerful  companions.  Happy  he  whose 
fortune  has  placed  him  where  there  is  calm  and  plenty, 

'Reprinted  from  the  Westminster  Review  for  June,  1840.     (No.  66.) 
425 


426  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

and  who  has  the  wisdom  not  to  give  up  his  quiet  in  quest 
of  visionary  gain. 

Here  is,  no  doubt,  the  reason  why  a  man,  after  the 
period  of  his  boyhood,  or  first  youth,  makes  so  few 
friends.  Want  and  ambition  (new  acquaintances  which 
are  introduced  to  him  along  with  his  beard )  thrust  aM^aj'' 
all  other  society  from  him.  Some  old  friends  remain, 
it  is  true,  but  these  are  become  as  a  habit— a  part  of  your 
selfishness ;  and,  for  new  ones,  they  are  selfish  as  you  are. 
Neither  member  of  the  new  partnership  has  the  capital 
of  affection  and  kindly  feeling,  or  can  even  afford  the 
time  that  is  requisite  for  the  establishment  of  the  new 
firm.  Damp  and  chill  the  shades  of  the  prison-house 
begin  to  close  round  us,  and  that  "  vision  splendid " 
which  has  accompanied  our  steps  in  our  journey  daily 
farther  from  the  east,  fades  away  and  dies  into  the  light 
of  common  day. 

And  what  a  common  day !  what  a  foggy,  dull,  shiver- 
ing apology  for  light  is  this  kind  of  muddy  twilight 
through  which  we  are  about  to  tramp  and  flounder  for 
the  rest  of  our  existence,  wandering  farther  and  farther 
from  the  beauty  and  freshness  and  from  the  kindly 
gushing  springs  of  clear  gladness  that  made  all  around 
us  green  in  our  youth!  One  wanders  and  gropes  in  a 
slough  of  stock -jobbing,  one  sinks  or  rises  in  a  storm  of 
politics,  and  in  either  case  it  is  as  good  to  fall  as  to  rise— 
to  mount  a  bubble  on  the  crest  of  the  wave,  as  to  sink  a 
stone  to  the  bottom. 

The  reader  who  has  seen  the  name  affixed  to  the  head 
of  this  article  scarcely  expected  to  be  entertained  with  a 
declamation  upon  ingratitude,  youth,  and  the  vanity  of 
human  pursuits,  which  may  seem  at  first  sight  to  have 
little  to  do  with  the  subject  in  hand.     But  (although  we 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  427 

reserve  the  privilege  of  discoursing  upon  whatever  sub- 
ject shall  suit  us,  and  by  no  means  admit  the  public  has 
any  right  to  ask  in  our  sentences  for  any  meaning,  or 
any  connection  whatever)  it  happens  that,  in  this  partic- 
ular instance,  there  is  an  undoubted  connection.  In 
Susan's  case,  as  recorded  by  Wordsworth,  what  connec- 
tion had  the  corner  of  Wood  Street  with  a  mountain 
ascending,  a  vision  of  trees,  and  a  nest  by  the  Dove? 
Why  should  the  song  of  a  thrush  cause  bright  volumes 
of  vapour  to  glide  through  Lothbury,  and  a  river  to  flow 
on  through  the  vale  of  Cheapside?  As  she  stood  at  that 
corner  of  Wood  Street,  a  mop  and  a  pail  in  her  hand 
most  likely,  she  heard  the  bird  singing,  and  straightway 
began  pining  and  yearning  for  the  days  of  her  youth, 
forgetting  the  proper  business  of  the  pail  and  mop. 
Even  so  we  are  moved  by  the  sight  of  some  of  Mr. 
Cruikshank's  works— the  "  Busen  fiihlt  sich  jugendlich 
erschiittert,"  the  "schwankende  Gestalten"  of  youth 
flit  before  one  again,— Cruikshank's  thrush  begins  to 
pipe  and  carol,  as  in  the  days  of  boyhood;  hence  misty 
moralities,  reflections,  and  sad  and  pleasant  remem- 
brances arise.  He  is  the  friend  of  the  young  especially. 
Have  we  not  read  all  the  story-books  that  his  wonderful 
pencil  has  illustrated?  Did  we  not  forego  tarts,  in  order 
to  buy  his  "  Breaking-up,"  or  his  "  Fashionable  Mon- 
strosities" of  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  something? 
Have  we  not  before  us,  at  this  very  moment,  a  print,— 
one  of  the  admirable  "Illustrations  of  Phrenology"— 
which  entire  work  was  purchased  by  a  joint-stock  com- 
pany of  boys,  each  drawing  lots  afterwards  for  the  sep- 
arate prints,  and  taking  his  choice  in  rotation?  The 
writer  of  this,  too,  had  the  honour  of  drawing  the  first 
lot,  and  seized  immediately  upon  "Philoprogenitive- 


428  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

ness"— a  marvellous  print  (our  copy  is  not  at  all  im- 
proved by  being  coloured,  which  operation  we  per- 
formed on  it  ourselves)— a  marvellous  print,  indeed,— 
full  of  ingenuity  and  fine  jovial  humour.  A  father, 
possessor  of  an  enormous  nose  and  family,  is  surrounded 
by  the  latter,  who  are,  some  of  them,  embracing  the 
former.  The  composition  writhes  and  twists  about  like 
the  Kermes  of  Rubens.  No  less  than  seven  little  men 
and  women  in  nightcaps,  in  frocks,  in  bibs,  in  breeches, 
are  clambering  about  the  head,  knees,  and  arms  of  the 
man  with  the  nose ;  their  noses,  too,  are  preternaturally 
developed— the  twins  in  the  cradle  have  noses  of  the 
most  considerable  kind.  The  second  daughter,  who  is , 
watching  them;  the  youngest  but  two,  who  sits  squall- 
ing in  a  certain  wicker  chair;  the  eldest  son,  who  is 
yawning;  the  eldest  daughter,  who  is  preparing  with 
the  gravy  of  two  mutton-chops  a  savoury  dish  of  York- 
shire pudding  for  eighteen  persons ;  the  youths  who  are 
examining  her  operations  (one  a  literary  gentleman,  in 
a  remarkably  neat  nightcap  and  pinafore,  who  has  just 
had  his  finger  in  the  pudding)  ;  the  genius  who  is  at 
work  on  the  slate,  and  the  two  honest  lads  who  are  hug- 
ging the  good-humoured  washerwoman,  their  mother, — 
all,  all,  save  this  worthy  woman,  have  noses  of  the 
largest  size.  Not  handsome  certainly  are  they,  and  yet 
everybody  must  be  charmed  with  the  picture.  It  is 
full  of  grotesque  beauty.  The  artist  has  at  the  back 
of  his  own  skull,  we  are  certain,  a  huge  bump  of 
philoprogenitiveness.  He  loves  children  in  his  heart; 
every  one  of  those  he  has  drawn  is  perfectly  happy,  and 
jovial,  and  affectionate,  and  innocent  as  possible.  He 
makes  them  with  large  noses,  but  he  loves  them,  and 
you  always  find  something  kind  in  the  midst  of  his 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  429 

humour,  and  the  ugliness  redeemed  by  a  sly  touch 
of  beauty.  The  smiling  mother  reconciles  one  with 
all  the  hideous  family:  they  have  all  something  of  the 
mother  in  them — something  kind,  and  generous,  and 
tender. 

Knight's,  in  Sweeting's  Alley;  Fairburn's,  in  a  court 
off  Ludgate  Hill;  Hone's,  in  Fleet  Street— bright,  en- 
chanted palaces,  which  George  Cruikshank  used  to  peo- 
ple with  grinning,  fantastical  imps,  and  merry,  harmless 
sprites,— where  are  they?  Fairburn's  shop  knows  him 
no  more ;  not  only  has  Knight  disappeared  from  Sweet- 
ing's Alley,  but,  as  we  are  given  to  understand,  Sweet- 
ing's Alley  has  disappeared  from  the  face  of  the  globe. 
Slop,  the  atrocious  Castlereagh,  the  sainted  Caroline  (in 
a  tight  pelisse,  with  feathers  in  her  head),  the  "Dandy 
of  sixty,"  who  used  to  glance  at  us  from  Hone's 
friendly  windows — where  are  they?  Mr.  Cruikshank 
may  have  drawn  a  thousand  better  things  since  the  days 
when  these  were;  but  they  are  to  us  a  thousand  times 
more  pleasing  than  anything  else  he  has  done.  How 
we  used  to  believe  in  them !  to  stray  miles  out  of  the  way 
on  holidays,  in  order  to  ponder  for  an  hour  before  that 
delightful  window  in  Sweeting's  Alley!  in  walks 
through  Fleet  Street,  to  vanish  abruptly  down  Fair- 
burn's passage,  and  there  make  one  at  his  "charming 
gratis  "  exhibition.  There  used  to  be  a  crowd  round  the 
window  in  those  days,  of  grinning,  good-natured  me- 
chanics, who  spelt  the  songs,  and  spoke  them  out  for  the 
benefit  of  the  company,  and  who  received  the  points  of 
humour  with  a  general  sympathizing  roar.  Where  are 
these  people  now?  You  never  hear  any  laughing  at 
HB.;  his  pictures  are  a  great  deal  too  genteel  for  that 
—polite  points  of  wit,  which  strike  one  as  exceedingly 


430  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

clever  and  pretty,  and  cause  one  to  smile  in  a  quiet,  gen- 
tleman-like kind  of  way. 

There  must  be  no  smiling  with  Cruikshank.  A  man 
who  does  not  laugh  outright  is  a  dullard,  and  has  no 
heart;  even  the  old  dandy  of  sixty  must  have  laughed 
at  his  own  wondrous  grotesque  image,  as  they  say  Louis 
Philippe  did,  who  saw  all  the  caricatures  that  were  made 
of  himself.  And  there  are  some  of  Cruikshank's  designs 
which  have  the  blessed  faculty  of  creating  laughter  as 
often  as  you  see  them.  As  Diggory  says  in  the  play, 
who  is  bidden  by  his  master  not  to  laugh  while  waiting 
at  table — "Don't  tell  the  story  of  Grouse  in  the  Gun- 
room, master,  or  I  can't  help  laughing."  Repeat  that 
history  ever  so  often,  and  at  the  proper  moment,  honest 
Diggory  is  sure  to  explode.  Every  man,  no  doubt,  who 
loves  Cruikshank  has  his  "  Grouse  in  the  Gun-room." 
There  is  a  fellow  in  the  "  Points  of  Humour "  who  is 
oiFering  to  eat  up  a  certain  little  general,  that  has  made 
us  happy  any  time  these  sixteen  years :  his  huge  mouth  is 
a  perpetual  well  of  laughter — buckets  full  of  fun  can  be 
drawn  from  it.  We  have  formed  no  such  friendships  as 
that  boyish  one  of  the  man  with  the  mouth.  But 
though,  in  our  eyes,  Mr.  Cruikshank  reached  his  apogee 
some  eighteen  years  since,  it  must  not  be  imagined  that 
such  is  really  the  case.  Eighteen  sets  of  children  have 
since  then  learned  to  love  and  admire  him,  and  may 
many  more  of  their  successors  be  brought  up  in  the  same 
delightful  faith.  It  is  not  the  artist  who  fails,  but  the 
men  who  grow  cold — the  men,  from  whom  the  illu- 
sions (why  illusions?  realities)  of  youth  disappear  one 
by  one ;  who  have  no  leisure  to  be  happy,  no  blessed  holi- 
days, but  only  fresh  cares  at  Midsummer  and  Christmas, 
being  the  inevitable  seasons  which  bring  us  bills  instead 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  431 

of  pleasures.  Tom,  who  comes  bounding  home  from 
school,  has  the  doctor's  account  in  his  trunk,  and  his 
father  goes  to  sleep  at  the  pantomime  to  which  he  takes 
him.  Pater  i7ifelioo,  you  too  have  laughed  at  clown,  and 
the  magic  wand  of  spangled  harlequin ;  what  delightful 
enchantment  did  it  wave  around  you,  in  the  golden  days 
"when  George  the  Third  was  king!"  But  our  clown 
lies  in  his  grave;  and  our  harlequin,  EUar,  prince  of  how 
many  enchanted  islands,  was  he  not  at  Bow  Street  the 
other  day,^  in  his  dirty,  tattered  faded  motley— seized 
as  a  law-breaker,  for  acting  at  a  penny  theatre,  after 
having  well-nigh  starved  in  the  streets,  where  nobody 
would  listen  to  his  old  guitar?  No  one  gave  a  shilling 
to  bless  him:  not  one  of  us  who  owe  him  so  much. 

We  know  not  if  Mr.  Cruikshank  will  be  very  well 
pleased  at  finding  his  name  in  such  company  as  that  of 
Clown  and  Harlequin ;  but  he,  like  them,  is  certainly  the 
children's  friend.  His  drawings  abound  in  feeling  for 
these  little  ones,  and  hideous  as  in  the  course  of  his  duty 
he  is  from  time  to  time  compelled  to  design  them,  he 
never  sketches  one  without  a  certain  pity  for  it,  and  im- 
parting to  the  figure  a  certain  grotesque  grace.  In 
happy  school-boys  he  revels;  plum-pudding  and  holi- 
days his  needle  has  engraved  over  and  over  again ;  there 
is  a  design  in  one  of  the  comic  almanacs  of  some  young 
gentlemen  who  are  employed  in  administering  to  a 
schoolfellow  the  correction  of  the  pump,  which  is  as 
graceful  and  elegant  as  a  drawing  of  Stothard.  Dull 
books  about  children  George  Cruikshank  makes  bright 
with  illustrations — there  is  one  published  by  the  ingen- 
ious and  opulent  Mr.  Tegg.  It  is  entitled  "  Mirth  and 
Morality,"  the  mirth  being,  for  the  most  part,  on  the  side 

^  This  was  written  in  1840. 


432  GEORGE  CRUIKSHANK 

of  the  designer— the  moraHty,  unexceptionable  cer- 
tainly, the  author's  capital.  Here  are  then,  to  these 
moralities,  a  smiling  train  of  mirths  supplied  by  George 
Cruikshank.  See  yonder  little  fellows  butterfly-hunt- 
ing across  a  common!  Such  a  light,  brisk,  airy,  gentle- 
man-like drawing  was  never  made  upon  such  a  theme. 
Who,  cries  the  author— 

"  Who  has  not  chased  the  butterfly. 

And  crushed  its  slender  legs  and  Avings, 
And  heaved  a  moralizing  sigh: 

Alas !  how  frail  are  human  things !  " 

A  very  unexceptionable  morality  truly;  but  it  would 
have  puzzled  another  than  George  Cruikshank  to  make 
mirth  out  of  it  as  he  has  done.  Away,  surely  not  on  the 
wings  of  these  verses,  Cruikshank's  imagination  begins 
to  soar;  and  he  makes  us  three  darling  little  men  on  a 
green  common,  backed  by  old  farm-houses,  somewhere 
about  May.  A  great  mixture  of  blue  and  clouds  in  the 
air,  a  strong  fresh  breeze  stirring,  Tom's  jacket  flap- 
ping in  the  same,  in  order  to  bring  down  the  insect  queen 
or  king  of  spring  that  is  fluttering  above  him, — he  ren- 
ders all  this  with  a  few  strokes  on  a  little  block  of  wood 
not  two  inches  square,  upon  which  one  may  gaze  for 
hours,  so  merry  and  life-like  a  scene  does  it  present. 
What  a  charming  creative  power  is  this,  what  a  privilege 
— to  be  a  god,  and  create  little  worlds  upon  paper,  and 
whole  generations  of  smiling,  jovial  men,  women,  and 
children  half  inch  high,  whose  portraits  are  carried 
abroad,  and  have  the  faculty  of  making  us  monsters  of 
six  feet  curious  and  happy  in  our  turn.  Now,  who 
would  imagine  that  an  artist  could  make  anything  of 
such  a  subject  as  this?     The  writer  begins  by  stating, — 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  433 

"  I  love  to  go  back  to  the  days  of  my  youth, 
And  to  reckon  my  joys  to  the  letter, 
And  to  count  o'er  the  friends  that  I  have  in  the  world. 
Ay,  and  those  who  are  gone  to  a  better.''^ 

This  brings  him  to  the  consideration  of  his  uncle.  "  Of 
all  the  men  I  have  ever  known,"  says  he,  "  my  uncle 
united  the  greatest  degree  of  cheerfulness  with  the  so- 
briety of  manhood.  Though  a  man  when  I  was  a  boy, 
he  was  yet  one  of  the  most  agreeable  companions  I  ever 
possessed.  .  .  .  He  embarked  for  America,  and  nearly 
twenty  years  passed  by  before  he  came  back  again ;  .  .  . 
but  oh,  how  altered!— he  was  in  every  sense  of  the  word 
an  old  man,  his  body  and  mind  were  enfeebled,  and  sec- 
ond childishness  had  come  upon  him.  How  often  have 
I  bent  over  him,  vainly  endeavouring  to  recall  to  his 
memory  the  scenes  we  had  shared  together:  and  how 
frequently,  with  an  aching  heart,  have  I  gazed  on 
his  vacant  and  lustreless  eye,  while  he  has  amused  him- 
self in  clapping  his  hands  and  singing  with  a  quavering 
voice  a  verse  of  a  psalm."  Alas!  such  are  the  conse- 
quences of  long  residences  in  America,  and  of  old  age 
even  in  uncles!  Well,  the  point  of  this  morality  is, 
that  the  uncle  one  day  in  the  morning  of  life  vowed 
that  he  would  catch  his  two  nephews  and  tie  them  toge- 
ther, ay,  and  actually  did  so,  for  all  the  efforts  the 
rogues  made  to  run  away  from  him;  but  he  was  so  fa- 
tigued that  he  declared  he  never  would  make  the  at- 
tempt again,  whereupon  the  nephew  remarks, — *'  Often 
since  then,  when  engaged  in  enterprises  beyond  my 
strength,  have  I  called  to  mind  the  determination  of  my 
uncle." 

Does  it  not  seem  impossible  to  make  a  picture  out 
of  this?     And  yet  George   Cruikshank  has  produced 


434  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

a  charming  design,  in  which  the  uncles  and  nephews 
are  so  prettily  portrayed  that  one  is  reconciled  to  their 
existence,  with  all  their  moralities.  Many  more  of  the 
mirths  in  this  little  book  are  excellent,  especially  a  great 
figure  of  a  parson  entering  church  on  horseback,— 
an  enormous  parson  truly,  calm,  unconscious,  un- 
wieldy. As  Zeuxis  had  a  bevy  of  virgins  in  order  to 
make  his  famous  pictm-e— his  express  virgin— a  clerical 
host  must  have  passed  under  Cruikshank's  eyes  be- 
fore he  sketched  this  little,  enormous  parson  of  parsons. 

Being  on  the  subject  of  children's  books,  how  shall 
we  enough  praise  the  dehghtful  German  nursery-tales, 
and  Cruikshank's  illustrations  of  them?  We  coupled 
his  name  with  pantomime  awhile  since,  and  sure  never 
pantomimes  were  more  charming  than  these.  Of  all 
the  artists  that  ever  drew,  from  Michael  Angelo  up- 
wards and  downwards,  Cruikshank  was  the  man  to 
illustrate  these  tales,  and  give  them  just  the  proper 
admixture  of  the  grotesque,  the  wonderful,  and  the 
graceful.  May  all  Mother  Bunch's  collection  be  simi- 
larly indebted  to  him;  may  "Jack  the  Giant  Killer," 
may  "  Tom  Thumb,"  may  "  Puss  in  Boots,"  be  one 
day  revivified  by  his  pencil.  Is  not  Whittington  sit- 
ting yet  on  Highgate  Hill,  and  poor  Cinderella  (in 
that  sweetest  of  all  fairy  stories)  still  pining  in  her 
lonely  chimney  nook?  A  man  who  has  a  true  affection 
for  these  delightful  companions  of  his  youth  is  bound 
to  be  grateful  to  them  if  he  can,  and  we  pray  ^Ir.  Cruik- 
shank to  remember  them. 

It  is  folly  to  say  that  this  or  that  kind  of  humour  is 
too  good  for  the  public,  that  only  a  chosen  few  can 
relish  it.  The  best  humour  that  we  know  of  has  been 
as  eagerly  received  by  the  public  as  by  the  most  deli- 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  435 

cate  connoisseur.  There  is  hardly  a  man  in  England 
who  can  read  but  will  laugh  at  Falstaff  and  the  hu- 
mour of  Joseph  Andrews;  and  honest  Mr.  Pickwick's 
story  can  be  felt  and  loved  by  any  person  above  the  age 
of  six.  Some  may  have  a  keener  enjoyment  of  it  than 
others,  but  all  the  world  can  be  merry  over  it,  and  is 
always  ready  to  welcome  it.  The  best  criterion  of  good 
humour  is  success,  and  what  a  share  of  this  has  Mr. 
Cruikshank  had!  how  many  millions  of  mortals  has  he 
made  happy !  We  have  heard  very  profound  persons  talk 
philosophically  of  the  marvellous  and  mysterious  man- 
ner in  which  he  has  suited  himself  to  the  time— fait 
vibrer  la  fibre  populaire  (as  Napoleon  boasted  of  him- 
self), supplied  a  pecuKar  want  felt  at  a  peculiar  period, 
the  simple  secret  of  which  is,  as  we  take  it,  that  he,  liv- 
ing amongst  the  public,  has  with  them  a  general  wide- 
hearted  sympathy,  that  he  laughs  at  what  they  laugh 
at,  that  he  has  a  kindly  spirit  of  enjoyment,  with  not 
a  morsel  of  mysticism  in  his  composition;  that  he  pities 
and  loves  the  poor,  and  jokes  at  the  follies  of  the  great, 
and  that  he  addresses  all  in  a  perfectly  sincere  and 
manly  way.  To  be  greatly  successful  as  a  professional 
humourist,  as  in  any  other  calling,  a  man  must  be  quite 
honest,  and  show  that  his  heart  is  in  his  work.  A  bad 
preacher  will  get  admiration  and  a  hearing  with  this 
point  in  his  favour,  where  a  man  of  three  times  his 
acquirements  will  only  find  indifference  and  coldness. 
Is  any  man  more  remarkable  than  our  artist  for  telling 
the  truth  after  his  own  manner?  Hogarth's  honesty 
of  purpose  was  as  conspicuous  in  an  earlier  time,  and 
we  fancy  that  Gilray  would  have  been  far  more  success- 
ful and  more  powerful  but  for  that  unhappy  bribe, 
which  turned  the  whole  course  of  his  humour  into  an 


436  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

unnatural  channel.  Cruikshank  would  not  for  any 
bribe  say  what  he  did  not  think,  or  lend  his  aid  to  sneer 
down  anything  meritorious,  or  to  praise  any  thing  or 
person  that  deserved  censure.  When  he  levelled  his  wit 
against  the  Regent,  and  did  his  very  prettiest  for  the 
Princess,  he  most  certainly  believed,  along  with  the 
great  body  of  the  people  whom  he  represents,  that  the 
Princess  was  the  most  spotless,  pure-mannered  darling 
of  a  Princess  that  ever  married  a  heartless  debauchee 
of  a  Prince  Royal.  Did  not  millions  believe  with  him, 
and  noble  and  learned  lords  take  their  oaths  to  her 
Royal  Highness's  innocence?  Cruikshank  would  not 
stand  by  and  see  a  woman  ill-used,  and  so  struck  in  for 
her  rescue,  he  and  the  people  belabouring  with  all  their 
might  the  party  who  were  making  the  attack,  and  de- 
termining, from  pure  sympathy  and  indignation,  that 
the  woman  must  be  innocent  because  her  husband 
treated  her  so  foully. 

To  be  sure  we  have  never  heard  so  much  from  ^Ir. 
Cruikshank's  own  lips,  but  any  man  who  will  examine 
these  odd  drawings,  which  first  made  him  famous,  will 
see  what  an  honest,  hearty  hatred  the  champion  of  wo- 
man has  for  all  who  abuse  her,  and  will  admire  the 
energy  with  which  he  flings  his  wood-blocks  at  all  who 
side  against  her.  Canning,  Castlereagh,  Bexley,  Sid- 
mouth,  he  is  at  them,  one  and  all;  and  as  for  the  Prince, 
up  to  what  a  whipping-post  of  ridicule  did  he  tie  that 
unfortunate  old  man !  And  do  not  let  squeamish  Tories 
cry  out  about  disloyalty;  if  the  crown  does  wrong,  the 
crown  must  be  corrected  by  the  nation,  out  of  respect, 
of  course,  for  the  crown.  In  those  days,  and  by  those 
people  who  so  bitterly  attacked  the  son,  no  word  was 
ever  breathed  against  the  father,  simply  because  he  was 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  437 

a  good  husband,  and  a  sober,  thrifty,  pious,  orderly 
man. 

This  attack  upon  the  Prince  Regent  we  beheve  to 
have  been  Mr.  Cruikshank's  only  effort  as  a  party  poli- 
tician. Some  early  manifestoes  against  Napoleon  we 
find,  it  is  true,  done  in  the  regular  John  Bull  style, 
with  the  Gilray  model  for  the  little  upstart  Corsican: 
but  as  soon  as  the  Emperor  had  yielded  to  stern  fortune 
our  artist's  heart  relented  (as  Beranger's  did  on  the 
other  side  of  the  water),  and  many  of  our  readers  will 
doubtless  recollect  a  fine  drawing  of  "  Louis  XVIII. 
trying  on  Napoleon's  boots,"  which  did  not  certainly 
fit  the  gouty  son  of  Saint  Louis.  Such  satirical  hits 
as  these,  however,  must  not  be  considered  as  political, 
or  as  anything  more  than  the  expression  of  the  artist's 
national  British  idea  of  Frenchmen. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  for  that  great  nation  Mr. 
Cruikshank  entertains  a  considerable  contempt.  Let 
the  reader  examine  the  "Life  in  Paris,"  or  the  five- 
hundred  designs  in  which  Frenchmen  are  introduced, 
and  he  will  find  them  almost  invariably  thin,  with  lu- 
dicrous spindle-shanks,  pigtails,  outstretched  hands, 
shrugging  shoulders,  and  queer  hair  and  mustachios. 
He  has  the  British  idea  of  a  Frenchman ;  and  if  he  does 
not  believe  that  the  inhabitants  of  France  are  for  the 
most  part  dancing-masters  and  barbers,  yet  takes  care 
to  depict  such  in  preference,  and  would  not  speak  too 
well  of  them.  It  is  curious  how  these  traditions  endure. 
In  France,  at  the  present  moment,  the  Englishman  on 
the  stage  is  the  caricatured  Englishman  at  the  time  of 
the  war,  with  a  shock  red  head,  a  long  white  coat,  and 
invariable  gaiters.  Those  who  wish  to  study  this  sub- 
ject should  peruse  Monsieur  Paul  de  Kock's  histories 


438  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

of  "  Lord  Boulingrog "  and  "  Lady  Crockmilove." 
On  the  other  hand,  the  old  emigre  has  taken  his  station 
amongst  us,  and  we  doubt  if  a  good  British  gallery 
would  understand  that  such  and  such  a  character  was 
a  Frenchman  unless  he  appeared  in  the  ancient  tradi- 
tional costume. 

A  curious  book,  called  "  Life  in  Paris,"  published  in 
1822,  contains  a  number  of  the  artist's  plates  in  the 
aquatint  style ;  and  though  we  believe  he  had  never  been 
in  that  capital,  the  designs  have  a  great  deal  of  life 
in  them,  and  pass  muster  very  well.  A  villainous  race 
of  shoulder-shrugging  mortals  are  his  Frenchmen  in- 
deed. And  the  heroes  of  the  tale,  a  certain  Mr.  Dick 
Wildfire,  Squire  Jenkins,  and  Captain  O'Shuffleton, 
are  made  to  show  the  true  British  superiority  on  every 
occasion  when  Britons  and  French  are  brought  together. 
This  book  was  one  among  the  many  that  the  designer's 
genius  has  caused  to  be  popular;  the  plates  are  not 
carefully  executed,  but,  being  coloured,  have  a  pleas- 
ant, lively  look.  The  same  style  was  adopted  in  the 
once  famous  book  called  "  Tom  and  Jerry,  or  Life  in 
London,"  which  must  have  a  word  of  notice  here,  for, 
although  by  no  means  Mr.  Cruikshank's  best  work,  his 
reputation  was  extraordinarily  raised  by  it.  Tom  and 
Jerry  were  as  popular  twenty  years  since  as  ]Mr.  Pick- 
wick and  Sam  Weller  now  are;  and  often  have  we 
wished,  while  reading  the  biographies  of  the  latter  cele- 
brated personages,  that  they  had  been  described  as  well 
by  Mr.  Cruikshank's  pencil  as  by  ^Ir.  Dickens's  pen. 

As  for  Tom  and  Jerry,  to  show  the  mutability  of  hu- 
man affairs  and  the  evanescent  nature  of  reputation, 
we  have  been  to  the  British  ^luseum  and  no  less  than 
five  circulating  libraries  in  quest  of  the  book,  and  "  Life 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  439 

in  London,"  alas,  is  not  to  be  found  at  any  one  of  them. 
We  can  only,  therefore,  speak  of  the  work  from  recol- 
lection, but  have  still  a  very  clear  remembrance  of  the 
leather-gaiters  of  Jerry  Hawthorn,  the  green  spectacles 
of  Logic,  and  the  hooked  nose  of  Corinthian  Tom.  They 
were  the  school-boy's  delight;  and  in  the  days  when  the 
work  appeared  we  firmly  believed  the  three  heroes  above 
named  to  be  types  of  the  most  elegant,  fashionable 
young  fellows  the  town  afforded,  and  thought  their 
occupations  and  amusements  were  those  of  all  high- 
bred English  gentlemen.  Tom  knocking  down  the 
watchman  at  Temple  Bar;  Tom  and  Jerry  dancing  at 
Almack's ;  or  flirting  in  the  saloon  at  the  theatre ;  at  the 
night-houses,  after  the  play ;  at  Tom  Cribb's,  examining 
the  silver  cup  then  in  the  possession  of  that  champion; 
at  the  chambers  of  Bob  Logic,  who,  seated  at  a  cabinet 
piano,  plays  a  waltz  to  which  Corinthian  Tom  and  Kate 
are  dancing;  ambling  gallantly  in  Rotten  Row;  or  ex- 
amining the  poor  fellow  at  Newgate  who  was  having 
his  chains  knocked  off  before  hanging:  all  these  scenes 
remain  indelibly  engraved  upon  the  mind,  and  so  far 
we  are  independent  of  all  the  circulating  libraries  in 
London. 

As  to  the  literary  contents  of  the  book,  they  have 
passed  sheer  away.  It  was,  most  likely,  not  particularly 
refined;  nay,  the  chances  are  that  it  was  absolutel}^  vul- 
gar. But  it  must  have  had  some  merit  of  its  own,  that 
is  clear;  it  must  have  given  striking  descriptions  of  life 
in  some  part  or  other  of  London,  for  all  London  read  it, 
and  went  to  see  it  in  its  dramatic  shape.  The  artist, 
it  is  said,  wished  to  close  the  career  of  the  three  heroes 
by  bringing  them  all  to  ruin,  but  the  writer,  or  pub- 
lishers, would  not  allow  any  such  melancholy  subjects 


440  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

to  dash  the  merriment  of  the  public,  and  we  believe 
Tom,  Jerry,  and  Logic,  were  married  oif  at  the  end  of 
the  tale,  as  if  they  had  been  the  most  moral  personages 
in  the  world.  There  is  some  goodness  in  this  pity,  which 
authors  and  the  public  are  disposed  to  show  towards 
certain  agreeable,  disreputable  characters  of  romance. 
Who  would  mar  the  prospects  of  honest  Roderick  Ran- 
dom, or  Charles  Surface,  or  Tom  Jones?  only  a  very 
stern  moralist  indeed.  And  in  regard  of  Jerry  Haw- 
thorn and  that  hero  without  a  surname,  Corinthian 
Tom,  Mr.  Cruikshank,  we  make  little  doubt,  was  glad 
in  his  heart  that  he  was  not  allowed  to  have  his  own  way. 
Soon  after  the  "  Tom  and  Jerry  "  and  the  "  Life  in 
Paris,"  Mr.  Cruikshank  produced  a  much  more  elabo- 
rate set  of  prints,  in  a  work  which  was  called  "  Points  of 
Humour."  These  "Points"  were  selected  from  vari- 
ous comic  works,  and  did  not,  we  believe,  extend  be- 
yond a  couple  of  numbers,  containing  about  a  score 
of  copper-plates.  The  collector  of  humourous  designs 
cannot  fail  to  have  them  in  his  portfolio,  for  they  con- 
tain some  of  the  very  best  efforts  of  ^Ir.  Cruikshank's 
genius,  and  though  not  quite  so  highly  laboured  as  some 
of  his  later  productions,  are  none  the  worse,  in  our  opin- 
ion, for  their  comparative  want  of  finish.  All  the  ef- 
fects are  perfectly  given,  and  the  expression  is  as  good 
as  it  could  be  in  the  most  delicate  engraving  upon  steel. 
The  artist's  style,  too,  was  then  completely  formed; 
and,  for  our  parts,  we  should  say  that  we  preferred  his 
manner  of  1825  to  any  other  which  he  has  adopted  since. 
The  first  picture,  which  is  called  "  The  Point  of  Hon- 
our," illustrates  the  old  story  of  the  officer  who,  on  be- 
ing accused  of  cowardice  for  refusing  to  fight  a  duel, 
came  among  his  brother  officers  and  flung  a  lighted 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  441 

grenade  down  upon  the  floor,  before  which  his  comrades 
fled  ignominiously.  This  design  is  capital,  and  the  out- 
ward rush  of  heroes,  walking,  trampling,  twisting, 
scuffling  at  the  door,  is  in  the  best  style  of  the  grotesque. 
You  see  but  the  back  of  most  of  these  gentlemen;  into 
which,  nevertheless,  the  artist  has  managed  to  throw  an 
expression  of  ludicrous  agony  that  one  could  scarcely 
have  expected  to  find  in  such  a  part  of  the  human  figure. 
The  next  plate  is  not  less  good.  It  represents  a  couple 
who,  having  been  found  one  night  tipsy,  and  lying  in 
the  same  gutter,  were,  by  a  charitable  though  misguided 
gentleman,  supposed  to  be  man  and  wife,  and  put  com- 
fortably to  bed  together.  The  morning  came;  fancy 
the  surprise  of  this  interesting  pair  when  they  awoke 
and  discovered  their  situation.  Fancy  the  manner,  too, 
in  which  Cruikshank  has  depicted  them,  to  which  words 
cannot  do  justice.  It  is  needless  to  state  that  this  for- 
tuitous and  temporary  union  was  followed  by  one  more 
lasting  and  sentimental,  and  that  these  two  worthy  per- 
sons were  married,  and  lived  happily  ever  after. 

We  should  like  to  go  through  every  one  of  these 
prints.  There  is  the  jolly  miller,  who,  returning  home 
at  night,  calls  upon  his  wife  to  get  him  a  supper,  and 
falls  to  upon  rashers  of  bacon  and  ale.  How  he  gor- 
mandizes, that  jolly  miller!  rasher  after  rasher,  how 
they  pass  away  frizzhng  and  smoking  from  the  gridiron 
down  that  immense  grinning  gulf  of  a  mouth.  Poor 
wife!  how  she  pines  and  frets,  at  that  untimely  hour  of 
midnight  to  be  obliged  to  fry,  fry,  fry  perpetually, 
and  minister  to  the  monster's  appetite.  And  yonder 
in  the  clock:  what  agonized  face  is  that  we  see?  By 
heavens,  it  is  the  squire  of  the  parish.  What  business 
has  he  there?     Let  us  not  ask.     Suffice  it  to  say,  that  he 


442  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

has,  in  the  hurry  of  the  moment,  left  upstairs  his  br— ; 
his— psha!  a  part  of  his  dress,  in  short,  with  a  number 
of  bank-notes  in  the  pockets.  Look  in  the  next  page, 
and  you  will  see  the  ferocious,  bacon-devouring  ruffian 
of  a  miller  is  actually  causing  this  garment  to  be  carried 
through  the  village  and  cried  by  the  town-crier.  And 
we  blush  to  be  obliged  to  say  that  the  demorahzed 
miller  never  offered  to  return  the  bank-notes,  although 
he  was  so  mighty  scrupulous  in  endeavouring  to  find  an 
owner  for  the  corduroy  portfolio  in  which  he  had  found 
them. 

Passing  from  this  painful  subject,  we  come,  we  re- 
gret to  state,  to  a  series  of  prints  representing  person- 
ages not  a  whit  more  moral.  Burns's  famous  "  Jolly 
Beggars"  have  all  had  their  portraits  drawn  by 
Cruikshank.  There  is  the  lovely  "  hempen  widow," 
quite  as  interesting  and  romantic  as  the  famous  Mrs. 
Sheppard,  who  has  at  the  lamented  demise  of  her  hus- 
band adopted  the  very  same  consolation. 

"  My  curse  upon  them  every  one, 
They've  hanged  my  braw  John  Highlandman ; 

*  *  *  * 

And  now  a  widow  I  must  mourn 
Departed  joys  that  ne'er  return; 
No  comfort  but  a  hearty  can 
When  I  think  on  John  Highlandman." 

Sweet  "  raucle  carlin,"  she  has  none  of  the  sentimen- 
tality of  the  English  highwayman's  lady;  but  being 
wooed  by  a  tinker  and 

"  A  pigmy  scraper  wi'  his  fiddle 
Wha  us'd  to  trystes  and  fairs  to  driddle," 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  443 

prefers  the  practical  to  the  merely  musical  man.  The 
tinker  sings  with  a  noble  candour,  worthy  of  a  fellow 
of  his  strength  of  body  and  station  in  hfe— 

"  My  bonnie  lass,  I  work  in  brass, 

A  tinker  is  my  station ; 
I've  travell'd  round  all  Christian  ground 

In  this  my  occupation. 
I've  ta'en  the  gold,  I've  been  enroll'd 

In  many  a  noble  squadron ; 
But  vain  they  search'd  when  off  I  march'd 

To  go  an'  clout  the  caudron." 

It  was  his  ruling  passion.  What  was  military  glory  to 
him,  forsooth?  He  had  the  greatest  contempt  for  it, 
and  loved  freedom  and  his  copper  kettle  a  thousand 
times  better— a  kind  of  hardware  Diogenes.  Of  fid- 
dling he  has  no  better  opinion.  The  picture  represents 
the  "sturdy  caird"  taking  "poor  gut-scraper"  by  the 
beard,— drawing  his  "roosty  rapier,"  and  swearing  to 
"  speet  him  like  a  pliver  "  unless  he  would  relinquish  the 
bonnie  lassie  for  ever — 

"  Wi'  ghastly  ee,  poor  tweedle-dee 
Upon  his  hunkers  bended, 
An'  pray'd  for  grace  wi'  ruefu'  face, 
An'  so  the  quarrel  ended." 

Hark  how  the  tinker  apostrophizes  the  violinist,  stating 
to  the  widow  at  the  same  time  the  advantages  which  she 
might  expect  from  an  alliance  with  himself:— 

"  Despise  that  shrimp,  that  withered  imp, 
Wi'  a'  his  noise  and  caperin' ; 
And  take  a  share  with  those  that  bear 
The  budget  and  the  apron ! 


444  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

"  And  by  that  stowp,  my  faith  an'  houpe, 
An'  by  tliat  dear  Kilbaigie ! 
If  e'er  ye  want,  or  meet  wi'  scant, 
May  I  ne'er  weet  my  craigie." 

Cruikshank's  caird  is  a  noble  creature;  his  face  and 
figure  show  him  to  be  fully  capable  of  doing  and  saying 
all  that  is  above  written  of  him. 

In  the  second  part,  the  old  tale  of  "The  Three 
Hunchbacked  Fiddlers  "  is  illustrated  with  equal  felic- 
ity. The  famous  classical  dinners  and  duel  in  "  Pere- 
grine Pickle"  are  also  excellent  in  their  way;  and  the 
connoisseur  of  prints  and  etchings  may  see  in  the  latter 
plate,  and  in  another  in  this  volume,  how  great  the  ar- 
tist's mechanical  skill  is  as  an  etcher.  The  distant  view 
of  the  city  in  the  duel,  and  of  a  market-place  in  "  The 
Quack  Doctor,"  are  dehghtful  specimens  of  the  artist's 
skill  in  depicting  buildings  and  backgrounds.  They 
are  touched  with  a  grace,  truth,  and  dexterity  of  work- 
manship that  leave  nothing  to  desire.  We  have  before 
mentioned  the  man  with  the  mouth,  which  appears  in 
this  number  emblematical  of  gout  and  indigestion,  in 
which  the  artist  has  shown  all  the  fancy  of  Callot.  Lit- 
tle demons,  with  long  saws  for  noses,  are  making 
dreadful  incisions  into  the  toes  of  the  unhappy  sufferer; 
some  are  bringing  pans  of  hot  coals  to  keep  the 
wounded  member  warm ;  a  huge,  solemn  nightmare  sits 
on  the  invalid's  chest,  staring  solemnly  into  his  eyes;  a 
monster,  with  a  pair  of  drumsticks,  is  banging  a  devil's 
tattoo  on  his  forehead;  and  a  pair  of  imps  are  nailing 
great  tenpenny  nails  into  his  hands  to  make  his  happi- 
ness complete. 

The  late  Mr.  Clark's  excellent  work,  "  Three  Courses 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  445 

and  a  Dessert,"  was  published  at  a  time  when  the  rage 
for  comic  stories  was  not  so  great  as  it  since  has  been, 
and  Messrs.  Clark  and  Cruikshank  only  sold  their  hun- 
dreds where  Messrs.  Dickens  and  Phiz  dispose  of  their 
thousands.  But  if  our  recommendation  can  in  any  way 
influence  the  reader,  we  would  enjoin  him  to  have  a 
copy  of  the  "  Three  Courses,"  that  contains  some  of  the 
best  designs  of  our  artist,  and  some  of  the  most  amusing 
tales  in  our  language.  The  invention  of  the  pictures, 
for  which  ^Mr.  Clark  takes  credit  to  himself,  says  a  great 
deal  for  his  wit  and  fancy.  Can  we,  for  instance,  praise 
too  highly  the  man  who  invented  that  wonderful  oyster? 

Examine  him  well;  his  beard,  his  pearl,  his  little 
round  stomach,  and  his  sweet  smile.  Only  oysters  know 
how  to  smile  in  this  way;  cool,  gentle,  waggish,  and  yet 
inexpressibly  innocent  and  winning.  Dando  himself 
must  have  allowed  such  an  artless  native  to  go  free,  and 
consigned  him  to  the  glassy,  cool,  translucent  wave 
again. 

In  writing  upon  such  subjects  as  these  with  which  we 
have  been  furnished,  it  can  hardly  be  expected  that  we 
should  follow  any  fixed  plan  and  order— we  must  there- 
fore take  such  advantage  as  we  may,  and  seize  upon  our 
subject  when  and  wherever  we  can  lay  hold  of  him. 

For  Jews,  sailors,  Irishmen,  Hessian  boots,  little 
boys,  beadles,  policemen,  tall  hfe-guardsmen,  charity 
children,  pumps,  dustmen,  very  short  pantaloons, 
dandies  in  spectacles,  and  ladies  with  aquiline  noses, 
remarkably  taper  waists,  and  wonderfully  long  ringlets, 
Mr.  Cruikshank  has  a  special  predilection.  The  tribe 
of  Israelites  he  has  studied  with  amazing  gusto ;  witness 
the  Jew  in  Mr.  Ainsworth's  "  Jack  Sheppard,"  and  the 
immortal  Fagin  of  "  Oliver  Twist."     Whereabouts  Hes 


446  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

the  comic  vis  in  these  persons  and  things?  "Why  should 
a  beadle  be  comic,  and  his  opposite  a  charity  boy?  Why 
should  a  tall  life-guardsman  have  something  in  him  es- 
sentially absurd?  Why  are  short  breeches  more  ridicu- 
lous than  long?  What  is  there  particularly  jocose  about 
a  pump,  and  wherefore  does  a  long  nose  always  provoke 
the  beholder  to  laughter?  These  points  may  be  meta- 
physically elucidated  by  those  who  list.  It  is  probable 
that  Mr.  Cruikshank  could  not  give  an  accurate  defini- 
tion of  that  which  is  ridiculous  in  these  objects,  but  his 
instinct  has  told  him  that  fun  lurks  in  them,  and  cold 
must  be  the  heart  that  can  pass  by  the  pantaloons  of  his 
charity  boys,  the  Hessian  boots  of  his  dandies,  and 
the  fan-tail  hats  of  his  dustmen,  without  respectful 
wonder. 

He  has  made  a  complete  little  gallery  of  dustmen. 
There  is,  in  the  first  place,  the  professional  dustman, 
who,  having  in  the  enthusiastic  exercise  of  his  delightful 
trade,  laid  hands  upon  property  not  strictly  his  own,  is 
pursued,  we  presume,  by  the  right  owner,  from  whom  he 
flies  as  fast  as  his  crooked  shanks  will  carry  him. 

What  a  curious  picture  it  is— the  horrid  rickety 
houses  in  some  dingy  suburb  of  London,  the  grinning 
cobbler,  the  smothered  butcher,  the  very  trees  which  are 
covered  with  dust— it  is  fine  to  look  at  the  different  ex- 
pressions of  the  two  interesting  fugitives.  The  fiery 
charioteer  who  belabours  the  poor  donkey  has  still  a 
glance  for  his  brother  on  foot,  on  whom  punishment  is 
about  to  descend.  And  not  a  little  curious  is  it  to  think 
of  the  creative  power  of  the  man  who  has  arranged  this 
little  tale  of  low  life.  How  logically  it  is  conducted, 
how  cleverly  each  one  of  the  accessories  is  made  to  con- 
tribute to  the  effect  of  the  whole.      What  a  deal  of 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  447 

thought  and  humour  has  the  artist  expended  on  this  ht- 
tle  block  of  wood;  a  large  picture  might  have  been 
painted  out  of  the  very  same  materials,  which  Mr. 
Cruikshank,  out  of  his  wondrous  fund  of  merriment 
and  observation,  can  afford  to  throw  away  upon  a  draw- 
ing not  two  inches  long.  From  the  practical  dustmen 
we  pass  to  those  purely  poetical.  There  are  three  of 
them  who  rise  on  clouds  of  their  own  raising,  the  very 
genii  of  the  sack  and  shovel. 

Is  there  no  one  to  write  a  sonnet  to  these?— and  yet  a 
whole  poem  was  written  about  Peter  Bell  the  Wag- 
goner, a  character  by  no  means  so  poetic. 

And  lastly,  we  have  the  dustman  in  love:  the  honest 
fellow  having  seen  a  young  beauty  stepping  out  of  a 
gin-shop  on  a  Sunday  morning,  is  pressing  eagerly  his 
suit. 

Gin  has  furnished  many  subjects  to  Mr.  Cruikshank, 
who  labours  in  his  own  sound  and  hearty  way  to  teach 
his  countrymen  the  dangers  of  that  drink.  In  the 
"  Sketch-Book"  is  a  plate  upon  the  subject,  remarkable 
for  fancy  and  beauty  of  design;  it  is  called  the  "Gin 
Juggernaut,"  and  represents  a  hideous  moving  palace, 
with  a  reeking  still  at  the  roof  and  vast  gin-barrels  for 
wheels,  under  which  unhappy  millions  are  crushed  to 
death.  An  immense  black  cloud  of  desolation  covers  over 
the  country  through  which  the  gin  monster  has  passed, 
dimly  looming  through  the  darkness  whereof  you  see 
an  agreeable  prospect  of  gibbets  with  men  dangling, 
burnt  houses,  &c.  The  vast  cloud  comes  sweeping  on  in 
the  wake  of  this  horrible  body-crusher;  and  you  see,  by 
way  of  contrast,  a  distant,  smiling,  sunshiny  tract  of  old 
EngUsh  country,  where  gin  as  yet  is  not  known.  The 
allegory  is  as  good,  as  earnest,  and  as  fanciful  as  one  of 


us 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 


John  Bunyan's,  and  we  have  often  fancied  there  was  a 
similarity  between  the  men. 

The  reader  will  examine  the  work  called  "  My  Sketch- 
Book"  with  not  a  little  amusement,  and  may  gather 
from  it,  as  we  fancy,  a  good  deal  of  information  regard- 
ing the  character  of  the  individual  man,  George  Cruik- 
shank:  what  points  strike  his  eye  as  a  painter;  what 
move  his  anger  or  admiration  as  a  moralist ;  what  classes 
he  seems  most  especially  disposed  to  observe,  and  what 
to  ridicule.  There  are  quacks  of  all  kinds,  to  whom  he 
has  a  mortal  hatred;  quack  dandies,  who  assume  under 
his  pencil,  perhaps  in  his  eye,  the  most  grotesque  ap- 
pearance possible— their  hats  grow  larger,  their  legs 
infinitely  more  crooked  and  lean;  the  tassels  of  their 
canes  swell  out  to  a  most  preposterous  size;  the  tails  of 
their  coats  dwindle  away,  and  finish  where  coat-tails  gen- 
erally begin.  Let  us  lay  a  wager  that  Cruikshank,  a  man 
of  the  people  if  ever  there  was  one,  heartily  hates  and 
despises  these  supercilious,  swaggering  young  gentle- 
men; and  his  contempt  is  not  a  whit  the  less  lauda- 
ble because  there  may  be  tant  soit  peu  of  prejudice  in  it. 
It  is  right  and  wholesome  to  scorn  dandies,  as  Nelson 
said  it  was  to  hate  Frenchmen;  in  which  sentiment  (as 
we  have  before  said)  George  Cruikshank  undoubtedly 
shares.  In  the  "  Sunday  in  London,"  ^  ISIonsieur  the 
Chef  is  instructing  a  kitchen-maid  how  to  compound 


*  The  following  lines— ever  fresh— by  the  author  of  "  Headlong  Hall." 
published  years  ago  in  the  Globe  and  Traveller,  are  an  excellent  comment 
on  several  of  the  cuts  from  the  "Sunday  in  London:"— 

I.  H. 

"The  poor  man's   sins   are  glaring;  "The  rich  man's  sins  are  hidden 

In   the   face  of   ghostly   warning  In  the  pomp  of  wealth  and  station, 

He  is  caught  in  the  fact  And  escape  the  sight 

Of  an  overt  act.  Of  the   children   of   light, 

Buying  greens  on  Sunday  morning.  Who  are  wise  in  their  generation. 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 


449 


some  rascally  French  kickshaw  or  the  other— a  pretty 
scoundrel  truly!  with  what  an  air  he  wears  that  night- 
cap of  his,  and  shrugs  his  lank  shoulders,  and  chatters, 
and  ogles,  and  grins:  they  are  all  the  same,  these 
mounseers;  there  are  other  two  fellows— morhleu!  one 
is  putting  his  dirty  fingers  into  the  saucepan;  there  are 
frogs  cooking  in  it,  no  doubt;  and  just  over  some  other 
dish  of  abomination,  another  dirty  rascal  is  taking  snufF! 
Never  mind,  the  sauce  won't  be  hurt  by  a  few  ingredi- 
ents more  or  less.  Three  such  fellows  as  these  are  not 
worth  one  Englishman,  that's  clear.  There  is  one  in 
the  very  midst  of  them,  the  great  burly  fellow  with  the 
beef:  he  could  beat  all  three  in  five  minutes.  We  can- 
not be  certain  that  such  was  the  process  going  on  in  Mr. 
Cruikshank's  mind  when  he  made  the  design ;  but  some 
feelings  of  this  sort  were  no  doubt  entertained  by  him. 

Against  dandy  footmen  he  is  particularly  severe. 
He  hates  idlers,  pretenders,  boasters,  and  punishes  these 
fellows  as  best  he  may.  Who  does  not  recollect  the 
famous  picture,  "What  is  Taxes,  Thomas?"  What  is 
taxes  indeed;  well  may  that  vast,  over-fed,  lounging 
flunkey  ask  the  question  of  his  associate  Thomas:  and 
yet  not  well,  for  all  that  Thomas  says  in  reply  is,  "^7 
dont  know."     "  O  beati  plushicolce"  what  a  charming 


III. 

'  The  rich  mnn  has  a  kitchen, 
And  cooliS  to  dress  his  dinner; 
The  poor  who  would  roast, 
To  the  balier's  must  post. 
And  thus  becomes  a  sinner. 


IV. 

"  The  rich  man's  painted  windows 

Hide  the  concerts  of  the  quality; 

The  poor  can  but  share 

A  crack'd  fiddle  in  the  air, 

\Vhic}i  offends  all  sound  morality. 


The  rich  man  has  a  cellar, 
And  a  ready  butler  by  him; 

The  poor  must  steer 

For  his  pint  of  beer 
Where  the  saint  can't  choose  but 
spy  him. 

VI. 

'  The  rich  man  is  invisible 
In  the  crowd  of  his  gay  society; 

But  the  poor  man's  delight 

Is  a  sore  in  the  sight 
And  a  stench  in  the  nose  of  piety.' 


450  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

state  of  ignorance  is  yours!  In  the  "Sketch-Book'* 
many  footmen  make  their  appearance :  one  is  a  huge  fat 
Hercules  of  a  Portman  Square  porter,  who  calmly  sur- 
veys another  poor  fellow,  a  porter  likewise,  but  out  of 
livery,  who  comes  staggering  forward  with  a  box  that 
Hercules  might  lift  with  his  little  finger.  Will  Her- 
cules do  so?  not  he.  The  giant  can  carry  nothing 
heavier  than  a  cocked-hat  note  on  a  silver  tray,  and  his 
labours  are  to  walk  from  his  sentry-box  to  the  door,  and 
from  the  door  back  to  his  sentry-box,  and  to  read  the 
Sunday  paper,  and  to  poke  the  hall  fire  twice  or 
thrice,  and  to  make  five  meals  a  day.  Such  a  fellow 
does  "Cruikshank  hate  and  scorn  worse  even  than  a 
Frenchman. 

The  man's  master,  too,  comes  in  for  no  small  share  of 
our  artist's  wrath.  There  is  a  company  of  them  at 
church,  who  humbly  designate  themselves  "miserable 
sinners!"  Miserable  sinners  indeed!  Oh,  what  floods 
of  turtle-soup,  what  tons  of  turbot  and  lobster-sauce 
must  have  been  sacrificed  to  make  those  sinners  properly 
miserable.  My  lady  with  the  ermine  tippet  and  drag- 
gling feather,  can  we  not  see  that  she  lives  in  Portland 
Place,  and  is  the  wife  of  an  East  India  Director?  She 
has  been  to  the  Opera  over-night  (indeed  her  husband, 
on  her  right,  with  his  fat  hand  dangling  over  the  pew- 
door,  is  at  this  minute  thinking  of  Mademoiselle  Leo- 
cadie,  whom  he  saw  behind  the  scenes)  —she  has  been  at 
the  Opera  over-night,  which  with  a  trifle  of  supper  after- 
wards—a white-and-brown  soup,  a  lobster-salad,  some 
woodcocks,  and  a  httle  champagne— sent  her  to  bed 
quite  comfortable.  At  half -past  eight  her  maid  brings 
her  chocolate  in  bed,  at  ten  she  has  fresh  eggs  and  muf- 
fins,   with,    perhaps,    a   half -hundred    of    prawns    for 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  451 

breakfast,  and  so  can  get  over  the  day  and  the  sermon 
till  lunch  time  prettj^  well.  What  an  odour  of  musk 
and  bergamot  exhales  from  the  pew!— how  it  is  wadded, 
and  stuffed,  and  spangled  over  with  brass  nails!  what 
hassocks  are  there  for  those  who  are  not  too  fat  to 
kneel!  what  a  flustering  and  flapping  of  gilt  prayer- 
books;  and  what  a  pious  whirring  of  Bible  leaves  one 
hears  all  over  the  church,  as  the  doctor  blandly  gives  out 
the  text!  To  be  miserable  at  this  rate  you  must,  at  the 
very  least,  have  four  thousand  a  year:  and  many  per- 
sons are  there  so  enamoured  of  grief  and  sin,  that  they 
would  willingly  take  the  risk  'of  the  misery  to  have  a 
life-interest  in  the  consols  that  accompany  it,  quite  care- 
less about  consequences,  and  sceptical  as  to  the  notion 
that  a  day  is  at  hand  when  you  must  fulfil  your  share 
of  the  bargain. 

Our  artist  loves  to  joke  at  a  soldier;  in' whose  livery 
there  appears  to  him  to  be  something  almost  as  ridicu- 
lous as  in  the  uniform  of  the  gentleman  of  the  shoulder- 
knot.  Tall  life-guardsmen  and  fierce  grenadiers  figure 
in  many  of  his  designs,  and  almost  always  in  a  ridicu- 
lous way.  Here  again  we  have  the  honest  popular 
English  feeling  which  jeers  at  pomp  or  pretension  of  all 
kinds,  and  is  especially  jealous  of  all  display  of  military 
authority.  "  Raw  Recruit,"  "  ditto  dressed,"  ditto 
"  served  up,"  as  we  see  them  in  the  "  Sketch-Book,"  are 
so  many  satires  upon  the  army :  Hodge  with  his  ribbons 
flaunting  in  his  hat,  or  with  red  coat  and  musket,  drilled 
stiff  and  pompous,  or  at  last,  minus  leg  and  arm,  totter- 
ing about  on  crutches,  does  not  fill  our  English  artist 
with  the  enthusiasm  that  follows  the  soldier  in  every 
other  part  of  Europe.  Jeanjean,  the  conscript  in 
France,  is  laughed  at  to  be  sure,  but  then  it  is  because 


452  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

he  is  a  bad  soldier:  when  he  comes  to  have  a  huge  pair 
of  mustachios  and  the  croioc-d'lwnneur  to  hriller  on  his 
poitrine  cicatrisee,  Jean  jean  becomes  a  member  of  a 
class  that  is  more  respected  than  any  other  in  the  French 
nation.  The  veteran  soldier  inspires  our  people  with 
no  such  awe— we  hold  that  democratic  weapon  the  fist 
in  much  more  honour  than  the  sabre  and  bayonet,  and 
laugh  at  a  man  tricked  out  in  scarlet  and  pipe-clay. 

That  regiment  of  heroes  is  "  marching  to  divine  ser- 
vice," to  the  tune  of  the  "  British  Grenadiers."  There 
they  march  in  state,  and  a  pretty  contempt  our  artist 
shows  for  all  their  gimcracks  and  trumpery.  He  has 
drawn  a  perfectly  English  scene— the  little  blackguard 
boys  are  playing  pranks  round  about  the  men,  and 
shouting,  "Heads  up,  soldier,"  "Eyes  right,  lobster," 
as  little  British  urchins  will  do.  Did  one  ever  hear  the 
like  sentiments  expressed  in  France?  Shade  of  Napo- 
leon, we  insult  you  by  asking  the  question.  In  Eng- 
land, however,  see  how  different  the  case  is:  and  de- 
signedly or  undesignedly,  the  artist  has  opened  to  us  a 
piece  of  his  mind.  In  the  crowd  the  only  person  who 
admires  the  soldiers  is  the  poor  idiot,  whose  pocket  a 
rogue  is  picking.  There  is  another  picture,  in  which 
the  sentiment  is  much  the  same,  only,  as  in  the  former 
drawing  we  see  Englishmen  laughing  at  the  troops  of 
the  line,  here  are  Irishmen  giggling  at  the  militia. 

We  have  said  that  our  artist  has  a  great  love  for  the 
drolleries  of  the  Green  Island.  Would  any  one  doubt 
what  was  the  country  of  the  merry  fellows  depicted  in 
his  group  of  Paddies? 

"  Place  me  amid  O'Rourkcs,  O'Tooles, 
The  ragged  royal  race  of  Tara ; 
Or  place  me  where  Dick  Martin  rules 
The  pathless  wilds  of  Connemara." 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  453 

We  know  not  if  Mr.  Cruikshank  has  ever  had  any  such 
good  luck  as  to  see  the  Irish  in  Ireland  itself,  but  he 
certainly  has  obtained  a  knowledge  of  their  looks,  as  if 
the  country  had  been  all  his  life  familiar  to  him.  Could 
Mr.  O'Connell  himself  desire  anything  more  national 
than  the  scene  of  a  drunken  row,  or  could  Father 
Mathew  have  a  better  text  to  preach  upon?  There  is 
not  a  broken  nose  in  the  room  that  is  not  thoroughly 
Irish. 

We  have  then  a  couple  of  compositions  treated  in  a 
graver  manner,  as  characteristic  too  as  the  other.  We 
call  attention  to  the  comical  look  of  poor  Teague,  who 
has  been  pursued  and  beaten  by  the  witch's  stick,  in 
order  to  point  out  also  the  singular  neatness  of  the  work- 
manship, and  the  pretty,  fanciful  little  glimpse  of  land- 
scape that  the  artist  has  introduced  in  the  background. 
Mr.  Cruikshank  has  a  fine  eye  for  such  homely  land- 
scapes, and  renders  them  with  great  delicacj^  and  taste. 
Old  villages,  farm-yards,  groups  of  stacks,  queer  chim- 
neys, churches,  gable-ended  cottages,  Elizabethan  man- 
sion-houses, and  other  old  English  scenes,  he  depicts 
with  evident  enthusiasm. 

Famous  books  in  their  day  were  Cruikshank's  "  John 
Gilpin"  and  "Epping  Hunt;"  for  though  our  artist 
does  not  draw  horses  very  scientifically,— to  use  a  phrase 
of  the  atelier,— he  feels  them  very  keenly;  and  his  queer 
animals,  after  one  is  used  to  them,  answer  quite  as  well 
as  better.  Neither  is  he  very  happy  in  trees,  and  such 
rustical  produce;  or  rather,  we  should  say,  he  is  very 
original,  his  trees  being  decidedly  of  his  own  make  and 
composition,  not  imitated  from  any  master. 

But  what  then?  Can  a  man  be  supposed  to  imitate 
everything?  We  know  what  the  noblest  study  of  man- 
kind is,  and  to  this  Mr.  Cruikshank  has  confined  himself. 


454  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

That  postilion  with  the  people  in  the  broken-down  chaise 
roaring  after  him  is  as  deaf  as  the  post  by  which  he 
passes.  Suppose  all  the  accessories  were  away,  could 
not  one  swear  that  the  man  was  stone-deaf,  beyond  the 
reach  of  trumpet?  What  is  the  peculiar  character  in  a 
deaf  man's  physiognomy?— can  any  person  define  it 
satisfactorily  in  words?— not  in  pages;  and  Mr.  Cruik- 
shank  has  expressed  it  on  a  piece  of  paper  not  so  big 
as  the  tenth  part  of  your  thumb-nail.  The  horses  of 
John  Gilpin  are  much  more  of  the  equestrian  order ;  and 
as  here  the  artist  has  only  his  favourite  suburban  build- 
ings to  draw,  not  a  word  is  to  be  said  against  his  design. 
The  inn  and  old  buildings  are  charmingly  designed,  and 
nothing  can  be  more  prettily  or  playfully  touched. 

"  At  Edmonton  his  loving  wife 
From  the  balcony  spied 
Her  tender  husband,  wond'ring  much 
To  see  how  he  did  ride. 

*' '  Stop,  stop,  John  Gilpin  !     Here's  the  house ! ' 
They  all  at  once  did  cry ; 
*  The  dinner  waits,  and  we  are  tired — ' 
Said  Gilpin— '  So   am  I!' 

"  Six  gentlemen  upon  the  road 
Thus  seeing  Gilpin  fly, 
With  post-boy  scamp'ring  in  the  rear, 
They  raised  the  hue  and  cry : — 

*' '  Stop  thief!    stop  thief! — a  highwayman!* 
Not  one  of  them  was  mute ; 
And  all  and  each  that  passed  that  way 
Did  join  in  the  pursuit. 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  455 

"  And  now  the  turnpike  gates  again 
Flew  open  in  short  space ; 
The  toll-men  thinking,  as  before, 
That  Gilpin  rode  a  race." 

The  rush,  and  shouting,  and  clatter  are  excellently 
depicted  by  the  artist;  and  we,  who  have  been  scoffing 
at  his  manner  of  designing  animals,  must  here  make  a 
special  exception  in  favour  of  the  hens  and  chickens; 
each  has  a  different  action,  and  is  curiously  natural. 

Happy  are  children  of  all  ages  who  have  such  a  ballad 
and  such  pictures  as  this  in  store  for  them !  It  is  a  com- 
fort to  think  that  wood-cuts  never  wear  out,  and  that 
the  book  still  may  be  had  for  a  shilling,  for  those  who 
can  command  that  sum  of  money. 

In  the  "Epping  Hunt,"  which  we  owe  to  the  face- 
tious pen  of  Mr.  Hood,  our  artist  has  not  been  so  suc- 
cessful. There  is  here  too  much  horsemanship  and  not 
enough  incident  for  him ;  but  the  portrait  of  Roundings 
the  huntsman  is  an  excellent  sketch,  and  a  couple  of  the 
designs  contain  great  humour.  The  first  represents  the 
Cockney  hero,  who,  "  like  a  bird,  was  singing  out  while 
sitting  on  a  tree." 

And  in  the  second  the  natural  order  is  reversed.  The 
stag  having  taken  heart,  is  hunting  the  huntsman,  and 
the  Cheapside  Nimrod  is  most  ignominiously  running 
away. 

The  Easter  Hunt,  we  are  told,  is  no  more ;  and  as  the 
Quarterly  Review  recommends  the  British  public  to 
purchase  Mr.  Catlin's  pictures,  as  they  form  the  only 
record  of  an  interesting  race  now  rapidly  passing  away, 
in  like  manner  we  should  exhort  all  our  friends  to  pur- 
chase Mr.  Cruikshank's  designs  of  another  interesting 
race,  that  is  run  already  and  for  the  last  time. 


456  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

Besides  these,  we  must  mention,  in  the  line  of  our  duty, 
the  notable  tragedies  of  "  Tom  Thumb "  and  "  Bom- 
bastes  Furioso,"  both  of  which  have  appeared  with  many 
illustrations  by  Mr.  Cruikshank.  The  "brave  army" 
of  Bombastes  exhibits  a  terrific  display  of  brutal  force, 
which  must  shock  the  sensibilities  of  an  English  radical. 
And  we  can  well  understand  the  caution  of  the  general, 
who  bids  this  soldatesque  effrenee  to  begone,  and  not  to 
kick  up  a  row. 

Such  a  troop  of  lawless  ruffians  let  loose  upon  a  popu- 
lous city  would  play  sad  havoc  in  it;  and  we  fancy  the 
massacres  of  Birmingham  renewed,  or  at  least  of  Bada- 
joz,  which,  though  not  quite  so  dreadful,  if  we  may  be- 
lieve his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  as  the  former 
scenes  of  slaughter,  were  nevertheless  severe  enough: 
but  we  must  not  venture  upon  any  ill-timed  pleasantries 
in  presence  of  the  disturbed  King  Arthur  and  the  awful 
ghost  of  Gaffer  Thumb. 

We  are  thus  carried  at  once  into  the  supernatural,  and 
here  we  find  Cruikshank  reigning  supreme.  He  has 
invented  in  his  time  a  little  comic  pandemonium,  peo- 
pled with  the  most  droll,  good-natured  fiends  possible. 
We  have  before  us  Chamisso's  "  Peter  Schlemihl,"  with 
Cruikshank's  designs  translated  into  German,  and  gain- 
ing nothing  by  the  change.  The  "  Kinder  und  Hans- 
Maerchen"  of  Grimm  are  likewise  ornamented  with  a 
frontispiece,  copied  from  that  one  which  appeared  to 
the  amusing  version  of  the  English  work.  The  books 
on  Phrenology  and  Time  have  been  imitated  by  the 
same  nation;  and  even  in  France,  whither  reputation 
travels  slower  than  to  any  country  except  China,  we 
have  seen  copies  of  the  works  of  George  Cruikshank. 

He  in  return  has  complimented  the  French  by  illus- 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  457 

trating  a  couple  of  Lives  of  Napoleon,  and  the  "  Life 
in  Paris  "  before  mentioned.  Pie  has  also  made  designs 
for  Victor  Hugo's  "  Hans  of  Iceland."  Strange,  wild 
etchings  were  those,  on  a  strange,  mad  subject;  not  so 
good  in  our  notion  as  the  designs  for  the  German  books, 
the  peculiar  humour  of  which  latter  seemed  to  suit  the 
artist  exactly.  There  is  a  mixture  of  the  awful  and  the 
ridiculous  in  these,  which  perpetually  excites  and  keeps 
awake  the  reader's  attention;  the  German  writer  and 
the  Enghsh  artist  seem  to  have  an  entire  faith  in  their 
subject.  The  reader,  no  doubt,  remembers  the  awful 
passage  in  "  Peter  Schlemihl,"  where  the  little  gentle- 
man purchases  the  shadow  of  that  hero — "  Have  the 
kindness,  noble  sir,  to  examine  and  try  this  bag."  "  He 
put  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and  drew  thence  a  tolerably 
large  bag  of  Cordovan  leather,  to  which  a  couple  of 
thongs  were  fixed.  I  took  it  from  him,  and  immedi- 
ately counted  out  ten  gold  pieces,  and  ten  more,  and  ten 
more,  and  still  other  ten,  whereupon  I  held  out  my  hand 
to  him.  Done,  said  I,  it  is  a  bargain;  you  shall  have 
my  shadow  for  your  bag.  The  bargain  was  concluded ; 
he  knelt  down  before  me,  and  I  saw  him  with  a  wonder- 
ful neatness  take  my  shadow  from  head  to  foot,  lightly 
lift  it  up  from  the  grass,  roll  and  fold  it  up  neatly,  and 
at  last  pocket  it.  He  then  rose  up,  bowed  to  me  once 
more,  and  walked  away  again,  disappearing  behind  the 
rose-bushes.  I  don't  know,  but  I  thought  I  heard  him 
laughing  a  little.  I,  however,  kept  fast  hold  of  the  bag. 
Everything  around  me  was  bright  in  the  sun,  and  as 
yet  I  gave  no  thought  to  what  I  had  done." 

This  marvellous  event,  narrated  by  Peter  with  such  a 
faithful,  circumstantial  detail,  is  painted  by  Cruikshank 
in  the  most  wonderful  poetic  way,  with  that  happy  mix- 


458  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

ture  of  the  real  and  supernatural  that  makes  the  narra- 
tive so  curious,  and  like  truth.  The  sun  is  shining  with 
the  utmost  brilliancy  in  a  great  quiet  park  or  garden; 
there  is  a  palace  in  the  background,  and  a  statue  bask- 
ing in  the  sun  quite  lonely  and  melancholy;  there  is  a 
sun-dial,  on  which  is  a  deep  shadow,  and  in  the  front 
stands  Peter  Schlemihl,  bag  in  hand:  the  old  gentleman 
is  down  on  his  knees  to  him,  and  has  just  lifted  off  the 
ground  the  shadow  of  one  leg;  he  is  going  to  fold  it 
back  neatly,  as  one  does  the  tails  of  a  coat,  and  will  stow 
it,  without  any  creases  or  crumples,  along  with  the  other 
black  garments  that  lie  in  that  immense  pocket  of  his. 
Cruikshank  has  designed  all  this  as  if  he  had  a  very 
serious  belief  in  the  story ;  he  laughs,  to  be  sure,  but  one 
fancies  that  he  is  a  little  frightened  in  his  heart,  in  spite 
of  all  his  fun  and  joking. 

The  German  tales  we  have  mentioned  before.  "  The 
Prince  riding  on  the  Fox,"  "  Hans  in  Luck,"  "  The  Fid- 
dler and  his  Goose,"  "Heads  off,"  are  all  drawings 
which,  albeit  not  before  us  now,  nor  seen  for  ten  years, 
remain  indelibly  fixed  on  the  memory.  "  Heisst  du 
etwa  Rumpelstilzchen?  "  There  sits  the  Queen  on  her 
throne,  surrounded  by  grinning  beef -eaters,  and  little 
Rumpelstiltskin  stamps  his  foot  through  the  floor  in  the 
excess  of  his  tremendous  despair.  In  one  of  these  Ger- 
man tales,  if  we  remember  rightly,  there  is  an  account 
of  a  little  orphan  who  is  carried  away  by  a  pitying  fairy 
for  a  term  of  seven  years,  and  passing  that  period  of 
sweet  apprenticeship  among  the  imps  and  sprites  of 
fairy-land.  Has  our  artist  been  among  the  same  com- 
pany, and  brought  back  their  portraits  in  his  sketch- 
book? Pie  is  the  only  designer  fairy -land  has  had. 
Callot's  imps,  for  all  their  strangeness,  are  only  of  the 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  459 

earth  earthy.  Fuseli's  fairies  belong  to  the  infernal 
regions;  they  are  monstrous,  lurid,  and  hideously  mel- 
ancholy. Mr.  Cruikshank  alone  has  had  a  true  insight 
into  the  character  of  the  "  little  people."  They  are 
something  like  men  and  women,  and  yet  not  flesh  and 
blood;  they  are  laughing  and  mischievous,  but  why  we 
know  not.  Mr.  Cruikshank,  however,  has  had  some 
dream  or  the  other,  or  else  a  natural  mysterious  instinct 
(as  the  Seherinn  of  Prevorst  had  for  beholding  ghosts), 
or  else  some  preternatural  fairy  revelation,  which  has 
made  him  acquainted  with  the  looks  and  ways  of  the 
fantastical  subjects  of  Oberon  and  Titania. 

We  have,  unfortunately,  no  fairy  portraits;  but,  on 
the  other  hand,  can  descend  lower  than  fairy-land,  and 
have  seen  some  fine  specimens  of  devils.  One  has 
already  been  raised,  and  the  reader  has  seen  him  tempt- 
ing a  fat  Dutch  burgomaster,  in  an  ancient  gloomy  mar- 
ket-place, such  as  George  Cruikshank  can  draw  as  well 
as  Mr.  Prout,  Mr.  Nash,  or  any  man  living.  There  is 
our  friend  once  more ;  our  friend  the  burgomaster,  in  a 
highly  excited  state,  and  running  as  hard  as  his  great 
legs  will  carry  him,  with  our  mutual  enemy  at  his  tail. 

What  are  the  bets;  will  that  long-legged  bond-holder 
of  a  devil  come  up  with  the  honest  Dutchman?  It 
serves  him  right:  why  did  he  put  his  name  to  stamped 
paper?  And  yet  we  should  not  wonder  if  some  lucky 
chance  should  turn  up  in  the  burgomaster's  favour,  and 
his  infernal  creditor  lose  his  labour ;  for  one  so  proverbi- 
ally cunning  as  j^ondertall  individual  with  the  saucer 
eyes,  it  must  be  confessed  that  he  has  been  very  often 
outwitted. 

There  is,  for  instance,  the  case  of  "  The  Gentleman 
in  Black,"  which  has  been  illustrated  by  our  artist.     A 


460  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

young  French  gentleman,  by  name  INI.  Desonge,  who 
having  expended  his  patrimony  in  a  variety  of  taverns 
and  gaming-houses,  was  one  day  pondering  upon  the 
exhausted  state  of  his  finances,  and  utterly  at  a  loss  to 
think  how  he  should  provide  means  for  future  support, 
exclaimed,  very  naturally,  "  What  the  devil  shall  I  do? " 
He  had  no  sooner  spoken  than  a  Gentleman  in  Black 
made  his  appearance,  Avhose  authentic  portrait  ^Ir. 
Cruikshank  has  had  the  honour  to  paint.  This  gentle- 
man produced  a  black-edged  book  out  of  a  black  bag, 
some  black-edged  papers  tied  up  with  black  crape,  and 
sitting  down  familiarly  opposite  M.  Desonge,  began 
conversing  with  him  on  the  state  of  his  affairs. 

It  is  needless  to  state  what  was  the  result  of  the  inter- 
view. M.  Desonge  was  induced  by  the  gentleman  to 
sign  his  name  to  one  of  the  black-edged  papers,  and 
found  himself  at  the  close  of  the  conversation  to  be  pos- 
sessed of  an  unlimited  command  of  capital.  This  ar- 
rangement completed,  the  Gentleman  in  Black  posted 
(in  an  extraordinarily  rapid  manner)  from  Paris  to 
London,  there  found  a  young  English  merchant  in  ex- 
actly the  same  situation  in  which  M.  Desonge  had  been, 
and  concluded  a  bargain  with  the  Briton  of  exactly  the 
same  nature. 

The  book  goes  on  to  relate  how  these  young  men  spent 
the  money  so  miraculously  handed  over  to  them,  and 
how  both,  when  the  period  drew  near  that  was  to  witness 
the  performance  of  their  part  of  the  bargain,  grew  mel- 
ancholy, wretched,  nay,  so  absolutely  dishonourable  as 
to  seek  for  every  means  of  breaking  through  their  agree- 
ment. The  Englishman  living  in  a  country  where  the 
lawyers  are  more  astute  than  any  other  lawyers  in  the 
world,  took  the  advice  of  a  Mr.  Bagsby,  of  Lyon's  Inn; 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  461 

M^hose  name,  as  we  cannot  find  it  in  the  "  Law  List," 
we  presume  to  be  fictitious.     Who  could  it  be  that  was 

a  match  for  the  devil?    Lord very  hkely;  we  shall 

not  give  his  name,  but  let  every  reader  of  this  Review 
fill  up  the  blank  according  to  his  own  fancy,  and  on 
comparing  it  with  the  copy  purchased  by  his  neighbours, 
he  will  find  that  fifteen  out  of  twenty  have  written  down 
the  same  honoured  name. 

Well,  the  Gentleman  in  Black  was  anxious  for  the 
fulfilment  of  his  bond.  The  parties  met  at  Mr.  Bags- 
by's  chambers  to  consult,  the  Black  Gentleman  foolishly 
thinking  that  he  could  act  as  his  own  counsel,  and  fear- 
ing no  attorney  alive.  But  mark  the  superiority  of 
British  law,  and  see  how  the  black  pettifogger  was 
defeated. 

Mr.  Bagsby  simply  stated  that  he  would  take  the  case 
into  Chancery,  and  his  antagonist,  utterly  humiliated 
and  defeated,  refused  to  move  a  step  farther  in  the 
matter. 

And  now  the  French  gentleman,  M.  Desonge,  hear- 
ing of  his  friend's  escape,  became  anxious  to  be  free 
from  his  own  rash  engagements.  He  employed  the 
same  counsel  who  had  been  successful  in  the  former  in- 
stance, but  the  Gentleman  in  Black  was  a  great  deal 
wiser  by  this  time,  and  whether  M.  Desonge  escaped, 
or  whether  he  is  now  in  that  extensive  place  which  is 
paved  with  good  intentions,  we  shall  not  say.  Those 
who  are  anxious  to  know  had  better  purchase  the  book 
wherein  all  these  interesting  matters  are  duly  set  down. 
There  is  one  more  diabolical  picture  in  our  budget,  en- 
graved by  Mr.  Thompson,  the  same  dexterous  artist 
who  has  rendered  the  former  diahleries  so  well. 

We  may  mention  Mr.  Thompson's  name  as  among 


462  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

the  first  of  the  engravers  to  whom  Cruikshank's  designs 
have  been  entrusted;  and  next  to  him  (if  we  may  be 
allowed  to  make  such  arbitrary  distinctions)  we  may 
place  Mr.  Williams;  and  the  reader  is  not  possibly 
aware  of  the  immense  difficulties  to  be  overcome  in 
the  rendering  of  these  little  sketches,  which,  traced 
by  the  designer  in  a  few  hours,  require  weeks' 
labour  from  the  engraver.  Mr.  Cruikshank  has  not 
been  educated  in  the  regular  schools  of  drawing 
(very  luckily  for  him,  as  we  think),  and  conse- 
quently has  had  to  make  a  manner  for  himself, 
which  is  quite  unlike  that  of  any  other  draftsman. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  least  mechanical  about  it;  to 
produce  his  particular  effects  he  uses  his  own  particular 
lines,  which  are  queer,  free,  fantastical,  and  must  be 
followed  in  all  their  infinite  twists  and  vagaries  by  the 
careful  tool  of  the  engraver.  Those  three  lovely  heads, 
for  instance,  imagined  out  of  the  rinds  of  lemons,  are 
worth  examining,  not  so  much  for  the  jovial  humour 
and  wonderful  variety  of  feature  exhibited  in  these 
darling  countenances  as  for  the  engraver's  part  of  the 
work.  See  the  infinite  delicate  cross-lines  and  hatch- 
ings which  he  is  obliged  to  render;  let  him  go,  not  a 
hair's  breadth,  but  the  hundredth  part  of  a  hair's 
breadth,  beyond  the  given  line,  and  the  feeling  of  it  is 
ruined.  He  receives  these  little  dots  and  specks,  and 
fantastical  quirks  of  the  pencil,  and  cuts  away  with  a 
little  knife  round  each,  not  too  much  nor  too  little. 
Antonio's  pound  of  flesh  did  not  puzzle  the  Jew  so 
much ;  and  so  well  does  the  engraver  succeed  at  last,  that 
we  never  remember  to  have  met  with  a  single  artist  who 
did  not  vow  that  the  wood-cutter  had  utterly  ruined  his 
design. 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  463 

Of  Messrs.  Thompson  and  Williams  we  have  spoken 
as  the  first  engravers  in  point  of  rank;  however,  the 
regulations  of  professional  precedence  are  certainly  very 
difficult,  and  the  rest  of  their  brethren  we  shall  not  en- 
deavour to  class.  Why  should  the  artists  who  executed 
the  cuts  of  the  admirable  "  Three  Courses  "  yield  the  pas 
to  any  one? 

There,  for  instance,  is  an  engraving  by  Mr.  Landells, 
nearly  as  good  in  our  opinion  as  the  very  best  woodcut 
that  ever  was  made  after  Cruikshank,  and  curiously 
happy  in  rendering  the  artist's  peculiar  manner :  this  cut 
does  not  come  from  the  facetious  publications  which  we 
have  consulted;  but  is  a  contribution  by  Mr.  Cruik- 
shank to  an  elaborate  and  splendid  botanical  work  upon 
the  OrchidacccE  of  Mexico,  by  Mr.  Bateman.  Mr.  Bate- 
man  despatched  some  extremely  choice  roots  of  this  val- 
uable plant  to  a  friend  in  England,  who,  on  the  arrival 
of  the  case,  consigned  it  to  his  gardener  to  unpack.  A 
great  deal  of  anxiety  with  regard  to  the  contents  was 
manifested  by  all  concerned,  but  on  the  lid  of  the  box 
being  removed,  there  issued  from  it  three  or  four  fine 
specimens  of  the  enormous  Blatta  beetle  that  had  been 
preying  upon  the  plants  during  the  voyage;  against 
these  the  gardeners,  the  grooms,  the  porters,  and  the 
porters'  children,  issued  forth  in  arms,  and  this  scene 
the  artist  has  immortalized. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  admirable  way  in  which  Mr. 
Cruikshank  has  depicted  Irish  character  and  Cockney 
character;  English  country  character  is  quite  as  faith- 
fully delineated  in  the  person  of  the  stout  porteress  and 
her  children,  and  of  the  "  Chawbacon  "  with  the  shovel, 
on  whose  face  is  written  "  Zummerzetsheer."  Chaw- 
bacon  appears  in  another  plate,  or  else  Chawbacon's 


464  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

brother.  He  has  come  up  to  Lunnan,  and  is  looking 
about  him  at  raaces. 

How  distinct  are  these  rustics  from  those  whom  we 
have  just  been  examining!  They  hang  about  the  pur- 
heus  of  the  metropohs:  Brook  Green,  Epsom,  Green- 
wich, Ascot,  Goodwood,  are  their  haunts.  They  visit 
London  professionally  once  a  year,  and  that  is  at  the 
time  of  Bartholomew  fair.  How  one  may  speculate 
upon  the  different  degrees  of  rascalit}^  as  exhibited  in 
each  face  of  the  thimblerigging  trio,  and  form  little  his- 
tories for  these  worthies,  charming  Newgate  romances, 
such  as  have  been  of  late  the  fashion!  Is  any  man  so 
blind  that  he  cannot  see  the  exact  face  that  is  writhing 
under  the  thimblerigged  hero's  hat?  Like  Timanthes 
of  old,  our  artist  expresses  great  passions  without  the 
aid  of  the  human  countenance.  There  is  another  speci- 
men— a  street  row  of  inebriated  bottles.  Is  there  any 
need  of  having  a  face  after  this?  "Come  on!"  says 
Claret-bottle,  a  dashing,  genteel  fellow,  with  his  hat  on 
one  ear—"  Come  on!  has  any  man  a  mind  to  tap  me?" 
Claret-bottle  is  a  little  screwed  (as  one  may  see  by  his 
legs),  but  full  of  gaiety  and  courage;  not  so  that  stout, 
apoplectic  Bottle-of-rum,  who  has  staggered  against  the 
wall,  and  has  his  hand  upon  his  liver:  the  fellow  hurts 
himself  with  smoking,  that  is  clear,  and  is  as  sick  as  sick 
can  be.  See,  Port  is  making  away  from  the  storm,  and 
Double  X  is  as  flat  as  ditch-water.  Against  these,  aw- 
ful in  their  white  robes,  the  sober  watchmen  come. 

Our  artist  then  can  cover  up  faces,  and  yet  show  them 
quite  clearly,  as  in  the  thimblerig  group;  or  he  can  do 
without  faces  all  together;  or  he  can,  at  a  pinch,  pro- 
vide a  countenance  for  a  gentleman  out  of  any  given 
object— a  beautiful  Irish  physiognomy  being  moulded 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  465 

upon  a  keg  of  whisky;  and  a  jolly  English  countenance 
frothing  out  of  a  pot  of  ale  (the  spirit  of  brave  Toby 
Philpot  come  back  to  reanimate  his  clay)  ;  while  in  a 
fungus  may  be  recognized  the  physiognomy  of  a  mush- 
room peer.  Finally,  if  he  is  at  a  loss,  he  can  make  a 
living  head,  body,  and  legs  out  of  steel  or  tortoise-shell, 
as  in  the  case  of  the  vivacious  pair  of  spectacles  that  are 
jockeying  the  nose  of  Caddy  Cuddle. 

Of  late  years  Mr.  Cruikshank  has  busied  himself  very 
much  with  steel  engraving,  and  the  consequences  of  that 
lucky  invention  have  been,  that  his  plates  are  now  sold 
by  thousands,  where  they  could  only  be  produced  by 
hundreds  before.  He  has  made  many  a  bookseller's 
and  author's  fortune  (we  trust  that  in  so  doing  he  may 
not  have  neglected  his  own).  Twelve  admirable  plates, 
furnished  yearly  to  that  facetious  little  publication,  the 
Comic  Almanac,  have  gained  for  it  a  sale,  as  we  hear, 
of  nearly  twenty  thousand  copies.  The  idea  of  the  work 
was  novel;  there  was,  in  the  first  number  especially,  a 
great  deal  of  comic  power,  and  Cruikshank's  designs 
were  so  admirable  that  the  Almanac  at  once  became  a 
vast  favourite  with  the  public,  and  has  so  remained  ever 
since. 

Besides  the  twelve  plates,  this  almanac  contains  a  pro- 
phetic woodcut,  accompanying  an  awful  Blarneyhum 
Astrologicum  that  appears  in  this  and  other  almanacs. 
There  is  one  that  hints  in  pretty  clear  terms  that  with 
the  Reform  of  Municipal  Corporations  the  ruin  of  the 
great  Lord  Mayor  of  London  is  at  hand.  His  lordship 
is  meekly  going  to  dine  at  an  eightpenny  ordinary,— 
his  giants  in  pawn,  his  men  in  armour  dwindled  to  "  one 
poor  knight,"  his  carriage  to  be  sold,  his  stalwart  alder- 
men vanished,   his   sheriffs,   alas!    and   alas!   in   gaol'. 


466  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

Another  design  shows  that  Rigdum,  if  a  true,  is  also 
a  moral  and  instructive  prophet.  John  Bull  is  asleep, 
or  rather  in  a  vision;  the  cunning  demon,  Speculation, 
blowing  a  thousand  bright  bubbles  about  him.  Mean- 
while the  rooks  are  busy  at  his  fob,  a  knave  has  cut  a 
cruel  hole  in  his  pocket,  a  rattle-snake  has  coiled  safe 
round  his  feet,  and  will  in  a  trice  swallow  Bull,  chair, 
money  and  all;  the  rats  are  at  his  corn-bags  (as  if,  poor 
devil,  he  had  corn  to  spare)  ;  his  faithful  dog  is  bolting 
his  leg-of-mutton— nay,  a  thief  has  gotten  hold  of  his 
very  candle,  and  there,  by  way  of  moral,  is  his  ale-pot, 
which  looks  and  winks  in  his  face,  and  seems  to  say,  O 
Bull,  all  this  is  froth,  and  a  cruel  satirical  picture  of  a 
certain  rustic  who  had  a  goose  that  laid  certain  golden 
eggs,  which  goose  the  rustic  slew  in  expectation  of  find- 
ing all  the  eggs  at  once.  This  is  goose  and  sage  too, 
to  borrow  the  pun  of  "learned  Doctor  Gill;"  but  we 
shrewdly  suspect  that  Mr.  Cruikshank  is  becoming  a 
little  conservative  in  his  notions. 

We  love  these  pictures  so  that  it  is  hard  to  part  us, 
and  we  still  fondly  endeavour  to  hold  on,  but  this  wild 
word,  farewell,  must  be  spoken  by  the  best  friends  at 
last,  and  so  good-by,  brave  wood-cuts:  we  feel  quite 
a  sadness  in  coming  to  the  last  of  our  collection. 

In  the  earlier  numbers  of  the  Comic  Almanac  all  the 
manners  and  customs  of  Londoners  that  would  afford 
food  for  fun  were  noted  down;  and  if  during  the  last 
two  years  the  mysterious  personage  who,  under  the  title 
of  "  Rigdum  Funnidos,"  compiles  this  ephemeris,  has 
been  compelled  to  resort  to  romantic  tales,  we  must  sup- 
pose that  he  did  so  because  the  great  metropolis  was 
exhausted,  and  it  was  necessary  to  discover  new  worlds 
in  the  cloud-land  of  fancy.    The  character  of  Mr.  Stubbs, 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  467 

who  made  his  appearance  in  the  Almanac  for  1839,  had, 
we  think,  great  merit,  although  his  adventures  were 
somewhat  of  too  tragical  a  description  to  provoke  pure 
laughter.  * 

We  should  be  glad  to  devote  a  few  pages  to  the  "  Il- 
lustrations of  Time,"  the  "  Scraps  and  Sketches,"  and 
the  "  Illustrations  of  Phrenology,"  which  are  among  the 
most  famous  of  our  artist's  publications;  but  it  is  very- 
difficult  to  find  new  terms  of  praise,  as  find  them  one 
must,  when  reviewing  Mr.  Cruikshank's  publications, 
and  more  difficult  still  (as  the  reader  of  this  notice  will 
no  doubt  have  perceived  for  himself  long  since)  to  trans- 
late his  design  into  words,  and  go  to  the  printer's  box 
for  a  description  of  all  that  fun  and  humour  which  the 
artist  can  produce  by  a  few  skilful  turns  of  his  needle. 
A  famous  article  upon  the  "  Illustrations  of  Time  "  ap- 
peared some  dozen  years  since  in  Blackwood's  Maga- 
zine, of  which  the  conductors  have  always  been  great  ad- 
mirers of  our  artist,  as  became  men  of  honour  and 
genius.  To  these  grand  qualities  do  not  let  it  be  sup- 
posed that  we  are  laying  claim,  but,  thank  heaven, 
Cruikshank's  humour  is  so  good  and  benevolent  that 
any  man  must  love  it,  and  on  this  score  we  may  speak 
as  well  as  another. 

Then  there  are  the  "Greenwich  Hospital"  designs, 
which  must  not  be  passed  over.  "  Greenwich  Hospital " 
is  a  hearty,  good-natured  book,  in  the  Tom  Dibdin 
school,  treating  of  the  virtues  of  British  tars,  in  ap- 
proved nautical  language.  They  maul  Frenchmen  and 
Spaniards,  they  go  out  in  brigs  and  take  frigates,  they 
relieve  women  in  distress,  and  are  yard-arm  and  yard- 
arming,  athwart-hawsing,  marlinspiking,  binnacling, 
and  helm's-a-leeing,  as  honest  seamen  invariably  do,  in 


468  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

novels,  on  the  stage,  and  doubtless  on  board  ship.  This 
we  cannot  take  upon  us  to  say,  but  the  artist,  like  a  true 
Englishman,  as  he  is,  loves  dearly  these  brave  guardians 
of  Old  England,  and  chronicles  their  rare  or  fanciful 
exploits  with  the  greatest  good-will.  Let  any  one  look 
at  the  noble  head  of  Nelson  in  the  "  Family  Library," 
and  they  will,  we  are  sure,  think  with  us  that  the  designer 
must  have  felt  and  loved  what  he  drew.  There  are  to 
this  abridgment  of  Southey's  admirable  book  many 
more  cuts  after  Cruikshank;  and  about  a  dozen  pieces 
by  the  same  hand  will  be  found  in  a  work  equally  popu- 
lar, Lockhart's  excellent  "  Life  of  Napoleon."  Among 
these  the  retreat  from  Moscow  is  very  fine;  the  Mam- 
louks  most  vigorous,  furious,  and  barbarous,  as  they 
should  be.  At  the  end  of  these  three  volumes  Mr.  Cruik- 
shank's  contributions  to  the  "  Family  Library "  seem 
suddenty  to  have  ceased. 

We  are  not  at  all  disposed  to  undervalue  the  works 
and  genius  of  Mr.  Dickens,  and  we  are  sure  that  he 
would  admit  as  readily  as  any  man  the  wonderful  assis- 
tance that  he  has  derived  from  the  artist  who  has  given 
us  the  portraits  of  his  ideal  personages,  and  made  them 
familiar  to  all  the  world.  Once  seen,  these  figures  re- 
main impressed  on  the  memory,  which  otherwise  would 
have  had  no  hold  upon  them,  and  the  heroes  and  heroines 
of  Boz  become  personal  acquaintances  with  each  of  us. 
Oh,  that  Hogarth  could  have  illustrated  Fielding  in  the 
same  way !  and  fixed  down  on  paper  those  grand  figures 
of  Parson  Adams,  and  Squire  Allworthy,  and  the  great 
Jonathan  Wild. 

With  regard  to  the  modern  romance  of  "  Jack  Shep- 
pard,"  in  which  the  latter  personage  makes  a  second 
appearance,  it  seems  to  us  that  Mr.  Cruikshank  really 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  469 

created  the  tale,  and  that  Mr.  Ainsworth,  as  it  were, 
only  put  words  to  it.  Let  any  reader  of  the  novel  think 
over  it  for  a  while,  now  that  it  is  some  months  since  he 
has  perused  and  laid  it  down— let  him  think,  and  tell  us 
what  he  remembers  of  the  tale?  George  Cruikshank's 
pictures— always  George  Cruikshank's  pictures.  The 
storm  in  the  Thames,  for  instance:  all  the  author's 
laboured  description  of  that  event  has  passed  clean  away 
— we  have  only  before  the  mind's  eye  the  fine  plates  of 
Cruikshank :  the  poor  wretch  cowering  under  the  bridge 
arch,  as  the  waves  come  rushing  in,  and  the  boats  are 
whirling  away  in  the  drift  of  the  great  swollen  black 
waters.  And  let  any  man  look  at  that  second  plate  of 
the  murder  on  the  Thames,  and  he  must  acknowledge 
how  much  more  brilliant  the  artist's  description  is  than 
the  writer's,  and  what  a  real  genius  for  the  terrible  as 
well  as  for  the  ridiculous  the  former  has;  how  awful  is 
the  gloom  of  the  old  bridge,  a  few  lights  glimmering 
from  the  houses  here  and  there,  but  not  so  as  to  be  re- 
flected on  the  water  at  all,  which  is  too  turbid  and  rag- 
ing :  a  great  heavy  rack  of  clouds  goes  sweeping  over  the 
bridge,  and  men  with  flaring  torches,  the  murderers,  are 
borne  away  with  the  stream. 

The  author  requires  many  pages  to  describe  the  fury 
of  the  storm,  which  Mr.  Cruikshank  has  represented  in 
one.  First,  he  has  to  prepare  you  with  the  something 
inexpressibly  melancholy  in  sailing  on  a  dark  night  upon 
the  Thames:  "the  ripple  of  the  water,"  "the  darkhng 
current,"  "the  indistinctively  seen  craft,"  "the  solemn 
shadows  "  and  other  phenomena  visible  on  rivers  at  night 
are  detailed  (with  not  unskilful  rhetoric)  in  order  to 
bring  the  reader  into  a  proper  frame  of  mind  for  the 
deeper  gloom  and  horror  which  is  to  ensue.    Then  fol- 


470  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

low  pages  of  description.  "As  Rowland  sprang  to  the 
helm,  and  gave  the  signal  for  pursuit,  a  war  like  a 
volley  of  ordnance  was  heard  aloft,  and  the  wind  again 
burst  its  bondage.  A  moment  before,  the  surface  of  the 
stream  was  as  black  as  ink.  It  was  now  whitening,  hiss- 
ing, and  seething,  like  an  enormous  cauldron.  The 
blast  once  more  swept  over  the  agitated  river,  whirled 
off  the  sheets  of  foam,  scattered  them  far  and  wide  in 
rain-drops,  and  left  the  raging  torrent  blacker  than  be- 
fore. Destruction  everywhere  marked  the  course  of  the 
gale.  Steeples  toppled  and  towers  reeled  beneath  its 
fury.  All  was  darkness,  horror,  confusion,  ruin.  Men 
fled  from  their  tottering  habitations  and  returned  to 
them,  scared  by  greater  danger.  The  end  of  the  world 
seemed  at  hand.  .  .  .  The  hurricane  had  now  reached 
its  climax.  The  blast  shrieked,  as  if  exulting  in  its 
wrathful  mission.  Stunning  and  continuous,  the  din 
seemed  almost  to  take  away  the  power  of  hearing.  He 
who  had  faced  the  gale  would  have  been  instantly 
stifled/'  &c.  &c.  See  with  what  a  tremendous  war  of 
words  (and  good  loud  words  too;  Mr.  Ainsworth's  de- 
scription is  a  good  and  spirited  one)  the  author  is  obliged 
to  pour  in  upon  the  reader  before  he  can  effect  his  pur- 
pose upon  the  latter,  and  inspire  him  with  a  proper 
terror.  The  painter  does  it  at  a  glance,  and  old  Wood's 
dilemma  in  the  midst  of  that  tremendous  storm,  with 
the  little  infant  at  his  bosom,  is  remembered  afterwards, 
not  from  the  words,  but  from  the  visible  image  of  them 
that  the  artist  has  left  us. 

It  would  not,  perhaps,  be  out  of  place  to  glance 
through  the  whole  of  the  "Jack  Sheppard"  plates, 
which  are  among  the  most  finished  and  the  most  success- 
ful of  Mr.  Cruikshank's  performances,  and  say  a  word 


GEORGE  CRUIKSHANK  471 

or  two  concerning  them.  Let  us  begin  with  finding 
fault  with  No.  1,  "Mr.  Wood  offers  to  adopt  little 
Jack  Sheppard."  A  poor  print,  on  a  poor  subject;  the 
figure  of  the  woman  not  as  carefully  designed  as  it 
might  be,  and  the  expression  of  the  eyes  (not  an  uncom- 
mon fault  with  our  artist)  much  caricatured.  The  print 
is  cut  up,  to  use  the  artist's  phrase,  by  the  number  of 
accessories  which  the  engraver  has  thought  proper,  after 
the  author's  elaborate  description,  elaborately  to  repro- 
duce. The  plate  of  "  Wild  discovering  Darrell  in  the 
loft"  is  admirable— ghastly,  terrible,  and  the  treatment 
of  it  extraordinarily  skilful,  minute,  and  bold.  The  in- 
tricacies of  the  tile-work,  and  the  mysterious  twinkling 
of  light  among  the  beams,  are  excellently  felt  and  ren- 
dered ;  and  one  sees  here,  as  in  the  two  next  plates  of  the 
storm  and  murder,  what  a  fine  eye  the  artist  has,  what  a 
skilful  hand,  and  what  a  sympathy  for  the  wild  and 
dreadful.  As  a  mere  imitation  of  nature,  the  clouds  and 
the  bridge  in  the  murder  picture  may  be  examined  by 
painters  who  make  far  higher  pretensions  than  Mr. 
Cruikshank.  In  point  of  workmanship  they  are  equally 
good,  the  manner  quite  unaffected,  the  effect  produced 
without  any  violent  contrast,  the  whole  scene  evidently 
well  and  philosophically  arranged  in  the  artist's  brain, 
before  he  began  to  put  it  upon  copper. 

The  famous  drawing  of  "  Jack  carving  the  name  on 
the  beam,"  which  has  been  transferred  to  half  the  play- 
bills in  town,  is  overloaded  with  accessories,  as  the  fii'st 
plate;  but  they  are  much  better  arranged  than  in  the 
last-named  engraving,  and  do  not  injure  the  effect  of 
the  principal  figure.  Remark,  too,  the  conscientiousness 
of  the  artist,  and  that  shrewd  pervading  idea  of  form 
which  is  one  of  his  principal  characteristics.     Jack  is 


472  GEORGE  CRUIKSHANK 

surrounded  by  all  sorts  of  implements  of  his  profession ; 
he  stands  on  a  regular  carpenter's  table:  away  in  the 
shadow  under  it  lie  shavings  and  a  couple  of  carpenter's 
hampers.  The  glue-pot,  the  mallet,  the  chisel-handle, 
the  planes,  the  saws,  the  hone  with  its  cover,  and  the 
other  paraphernalia  are  all  represented  with  extraordi- 
nary accuracy  and  forethought.  The  man's  mind  has  re- 
tained the  exact  drawing  of  all  these  minute  objects 
(unconsciously  perhaps  to  himself) ,  but  we  can  see  with 
what  keen  eyes  he  must  go  through  the  world,  and  what 
a  fund  of  facts  (as  such  a  knowledge  of  the  shape  of 
objects  is  in  his  profession)  this  keen  student  of  nature 
has  stored  away  in  his  brain.  In  the  next  plate,  where 
Jack  is  escaping  from  his  mistress,  the  figure  of  that 
lady,  one  of  the  deepest  of  the  ^dBo'AokriOi,  strikes  us  as 
disagreeable  and  unrefined;  that  of  Winifred  is,  on  the 
contrary,  very  pretty  and  graceful;  and  Jack's  puzzled, 
slinking  look  must  not  be  forgotten.  All  the  accessories 
are  good,  and  the  apartment  has  a  snug,  cosy  air ;  which 
is  not  remarkable,  except  that  it  shows  how  faithfully 
the  designer  has  performed  his  work,  and  how  curiously 
he  has  entered  into  all  the  particulars  of  the  subject. 

Master  Thames  Darrell,  the  handsome  young  man 
of  the  book,  is,  in  Mr.  Cruikshank's  portraits  of  him, 
no  favourite  of  ours.    The  lad  seems  to  wish  to  make  up 
for  the  natural  insignificance  of  his  face  by  frowning 
on  all  occasions  most  portentously.     This  figure,  bor- 
rowed from  the  compositor's  desk,  will  give  a 
^■•^    notion  of  what  we  mean.     Wild's  face  is  too 
'       violent  for  the  great  man  of  history  (if  we  may 
call  Fielding  history) ,  but  this  is  in  consonance  with  the 
ranting,    frowning,    braggadocio    character    that    JNIr. 
Ainsworth  has  given  him. 


GEORGE  CRUIKSHANK  473 

The  "  Interior  of  Willesden  Church  "  is  excellent  as 
a  composition,  and  a  piece  of  artistical  workmanship; 
the  groups  are  well  arranged;  and  the  figure  of  Mrs. 
Sheppard  looking  round  alarmed,  as  her  son  is  robbing 
the  dandy  Kneebone,  is  charming,  simple,  and  unaf- 
fected. Not  so  "  Mrs.  Sheppard  ill  in  bed,"  whose  face 
is  screwed  up  to  an  expression  vastly  too  tragic.  The 
little  glimpse  of  the  church  seen  through  the  open  door 
of  the  room  is  very  beautiful  and  poetical:  it  is  in  such 
small  hints  that  an  artist  especially  excels;  they  are  the 
morals  which  he  loves  to  append  to  his  stories,  and  are 
always  appropriate  and  welcome.  The  boozing  ken  is 
not  to  our  liking;  Mrs.  Sheppard  is  there  with  her  hor- 
rified eyebrows  again.  Why  this  exaggeration— is  it 
necessary  for  the  public?  We  think  not,  or  if  they 
require  such  excitement,  let  our  artist,  like  a  true  painter 
as  he  is,  teach  them  better  things.^ 

The  "  Escape  from  Willesden  Cage  "  is  excellent;  the 
"  Burglary  in  Wood's  house  "  has  not  less  merit;  " Mrs. 
Sheppard  in  Bedlam,"  a  ghastly  picture  indeed,  is  finely 
conceived,  but  not,  as  we  fancy,  so  carefully  executed; 
it  would  be  better  for  a  little  more  careful  drawing  in 
the  female  figure. 

"Jack  sitting  for  his  picture"  is  a  very  pleasing 
group,  and  savours  of  the  manner  of  Hogarth,  who  is 
introduced  in  the  company.     The  "Murder  of  Tren- 

^A  gentleman   (whose  wit  is  so  celebrated  that  one  should  be  very  cau- 
tious in  repeating  his  stories)    gave  the  writer  a  good  illustration  of  the 

philosophy  of  exaggeration.     Mr.  was  once  behind  the  scenes  at  the 

Opera  when  the  scene-shifters  were  preparing  for  the  ballet.  Flora  was 
to  sleep  under  a  bush,  whereon  were  growing  a  number  of  roses,  and  amidst 
which  was  fluttering  a  gay  covey  of  butterflies.  In  size  the  roses  exceeded 
the  most  expansive  sun-flowers,  and  the  butterflies  were  as  large  as  cocked 

hats;— the  scene-shifter  explained  to  Mr.  ,  who  asked  the  reason  why 

everything  was  so  magnified,  that  the  galleries  could  never  see  the  objects 
unless  they  were  enormously  exaggerated.  How  many  of  our  writers  and 
designers  work  for  the  galleries? 


474  GEORGE  CRUIKSHANK 

chard  "  must  be  noticed  too  as  remarkable  for  the  eif ect 
and  terrible  vigour  which  the  artist  has  given  to  the 
scene.     The  "  Willesden  Churchyard  "  has  great  merit 
too,  but  the  gems  of  the  book  are  the  little  vignettes 
illustrating  the  escape  from  Newgate.    Here,  too,  much 
anatomical  care  of  drawing  is  not  required;  the  figures 
are  so  small  that  the  outline  and  attitude  need  only  to 
be  indicated,  and  the  designer  has  produced  a  series  of 
figures  quite  remarkable  for  reality  and  poetry  too. 
There  are  no  less  than  ten  of  Jack's  feats  so  described  by 
Mr.  Cruikshank.      (Let  us  say  a  word  here  in  praise 
of  the  excellent  manner  in  which  the  author  has  carried 
us  through  the  adventure.)     Here  is  Jack  clattering  up 
the  chimney,  now  peering  into  the  lonely  red  room,  now 
opening  "  the  door  between  the  red  room  and  the  chapel." 
What  a  wild,  fierce,  scared  look  he  has,  the  young  ruf- 
fian, as  cautiously  he  steps  in,  holding  light  his  bar  of 
iron.    You  can  see  by  his  face  how  his  heart  is  beating! 
If  any  one  were  there!  but  no!    And  this  is  a  very  fine 
characteristic  of  the  prints,  the  extreme  loneliness  of 
them  all.     Not  a  soul  is  there  to  disturb  him— woe  to 
him  who  should— and  Jack  drives  in  the  chapel  gate, 
and  shatters  down  the  passage  door,  and  there  you  have 
him  on  the  leads.     Up  he  goes!  it  is  but  a  spring  of  a 
few  feet  from  the  blanket,  and  he  is  gone—ahiit,  evasit, 
erupit  I    Mr.  Wild  must  catch  him  again  if  he  can. 

We  must  not  forget  to  mention  "  Oliver  Twist,"  and 
Mr.  Cruikshank's  famous  designs  to  that  work.^  The 
sausage  scene  at  Fagin's,  Nancy  seizing  the  boy;  that 
capital  piece  of  humour,  Mr.  Bumble's  courtship,  which 
is  even  better  in  Cruikshank's  version  than  in   Boz's 

» Or  his  new  work,  "  The  Tower  of  London,"  which  promises  even 
to  surpass  Mr.  Cruikshank's  former  productions. 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  475 

exquisite  account  of  the  interview;  Sykes's  farewell  to 
the  dog;  and  the  Jew,— the  dreadful  Jew— that  Cruik- 
shank  drew!  What  a  fine  touching  picture  of  melan- 
choly desolation  is  that  of  Sykes  and  the  dog!  The 
poor  cur  is  not  too  well  drawn,  the  landscape  is  stiff 
and  formal ;  but  in  this  case  the  faults,  if  faults  they  be, 
of  execution  rather  add  to  than  diminish  the  effect  of  the 
picture:  it  has  a  strange,  wild,  dreary,  broken-hearted 
look ;  we  fancy  we  see  the  landscape  as  it  must  have  ap- 
peared to  Sykes,  when  ghastly  and  with  bloodshot  eyes 
he  looked  at  it.  As  for  the  Jew  in  the  dungeon,  let  us 
say  nothing  of  it— what  can  we  say  to  describe  it?  What 
a  fine  homely  poet  is  the  man  who  can  produce  this 
little  world  of  mirth  or  woe  for  us!  Does  he  elaborate 
his  effects  by  slow  process  of  thought,  or  do  they  come 
to  him  by  instinct?  Does  the  painter  ever  arrange  in 
his  brain  an  image  so  complete,  that  he  afterwards  can 
copy  it  exactly  on  the  canvas,  or  does  the  hand  work  in 
spite  of  him? 

A  great  deal  of  this  random  work  of  course  every 
artist  has  done  in  his  time;  many  men  produce  effects 
of  which  they  never  dreamed,  and  strike  off  excellences, 
haphazard,  which  gain  for  them  reputation;  but  a  fine 
quality  in  Mr.  Cruikshank,  the  quality  of  his  success,  as 
we  have  said  before,  is  the  extraordinary  earnestness  and 
good  faith  with  which  he  executes  all  he  attempts— the 
ludicrous,  the  polite,  the  low,  the  terrible.  In  the  sec- 
ond of  these  he  often,  in  our  fancy,  fails,  his  figures 
lacking  elegance  and  descending  to  caricature ;  but  there 
is  something  fine  in  this  too:  it  is  good  that  he  should 
fail,  that  he  should  have  these  honest  naive  notions  re- 
garding the  beau  monde,  the  characteristics  of  which  a 
namby-pamby  tea-party  painter  could  hit  off  far  better 


476  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

than  he.  He  is  a  great  deal  too  downright  and  manly 
to  appreciate  the  flimsy  delicacies  of  small  society— 
you  cannot  expect  a  lion  to  roar  you  like  any  sucking 
dove,  or  frisk  about  a  drawing-room  like  a  lady's  little 
spaniel. 

If  then,  in  the  course  of  his  life  and  business,  he  has 
been  occasionally  obliged  to  imitate  the  ways  of  such 
small  animals,  he  has  done  so,  let  us  say  it  at  once,  clum- 
sily, and  like  as  a  lion  should.  IMany  artists,  we  hear, 
hold  his  works  rather  cheap ;  they  prate  about  bad  draw- 
ing, want  of  scientific  knowledge; — they  would  have 
something  vastly  more  neat,  regular,  anatomical. 

Not  one  of  the  whole  band  most  likely  but  can  paint 
an  Academy  figure  better  than  himself;  nay,  or  a  por- 
trait of  an  alderman's  lady  and  family  of  children.  But 
look  down  the  list  of  the  painters  and  tell  us  who  are 
they?  How  many  among  these  men  are  poets  (makers) , 
possessing  the  faculty  to  create,  the  greatest  among  the 
gifts  with  which  Providence  has  endowed  the  mind  of 
man?  Say  how  many  there  are,  count  up  what  they 
have  done,  and  see  what  in  the  course  of  some  nine-and- 
twenty  years  has  been  done  by  this  indefatigable  man. 

What  amazing  energetic  fecundity  do  we  find  in  him ! 
As  a  boy  he  began  to  fight  for  bread,  has  been  hungry 
(twice  a  day  we  trust)  ever  since,  and  has  been  obliged 
to  sell  his  wit  for  his  bread  week  by  week.  And  his  wit, 
sterling  gold  as  it  is,  will  find  no  such  purchasers  as  the 
fashionable  painter's  thin  pinchbeck,  who  can  live  com- 
fortably for  six  weeks,  when  paid  for  and  painting  a 
portrait,  and  fancies  his  mind  prodigiously  occupied  all 
the  while.  There  was  an  artist  in  Paris,  an  artist  hair- 
dresser, who  used  to  be  fatigued  and  take  restoratives 
after  inventing  a  new  coiffure.     By  no   such  gentle 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK  477 

operation  of  head-dressing  has  Cruikshank  lived:  time 
was  (we  are  told  so  in  print)  when  for  a  picture  with 
thirty  heads  in  it  he  was  paid  three  guineas— a  poor 
week's  pittance  truly,  and  a  dire  week's  labour.  We 
make  no  doubt  that  the  same  labour  would  at  present 
bring  him  twenty  times  the  sum;  but  whether  it  be  ill- 
paid  or  well,  what  labour  has  Mr.  Cruikshank's  been! 
Week  by  week,  for  thirty  years,  to  produce  something 
new ;  some  smihng  offspring  of  painful  labour,  quite  in- 
dependent and  distinct  from  its  ten  thousand  jovial 
brethren;  in  what  hours  of  sorrow  and  ill-health  to  be 
told  by  the  world,  "Make  us  laugh  or  you  starve— 
Give  us  fresh  fun;  we  have  eaten  up  the  old  and  are 
hungry."  And  all  this  has  he  been  obliged  to  do— to 
wring  laughter  day  by  day,  sometimes,  perhaps,  out  of 
want,  often  certainly  from  ill-health  or  depression— to 
keep  the  fire  of  his  brain  perpetually  alight:  for  the 
greedy  public  will  give  it  no  leisure  to  cool.  This  he 
has  done  and  done  well.  He  has  told  a  thousand  truths 
in  as  many  strange  and  fascinating  ways ;  he  has  given  a 
thousand  new  and  pleasant  thoughts  to  millions  of  peo- 
ple ;  he  has  never  used  his  wit  dishonestly ;  he  has  never,  in 
all  the  exuberance  of  his  frolicsome  humour,  caused  a 
single  painful  or  guilty  blush :  how  little  do  we  think  of 
the  extraordinary  power  of  this  man,  and  how  ungrate- 
ful we  are  to  him ! 

Here,  as  we  are  come  round  to  the  charge  of  ingrati- 
tude, the  starting-post  from  which  we  set  out,  perhaps 
we  had  better  conclude.  The  reader  will  perhaps  wonder 
at  the  high-flown  tone  in  which  we  speak  of  the  services 
and  merits  of  an  individual,  whom  he  considers  a  humble 
scraper  on  steel,  that  is  wonderfully  popular  already. 
But  none  of  us  remember  all  the  benefits  we  owe  him; 


478  GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK 

they  have  come  one  by  one,  one  driving  out  the  memory 
of  the  other:  it  is  only  when  we  come  to  examine  them 
altogether,  as  the  writer  has  done,  who  has  a  pile  of 
books  on  the  table  before  him— a  heap  of  personal  kind- 
nesses from  George  Cruikshank  (not  presents,  if  you 
please,  for  we  bought,  borrowed,  or  stole  every  one  of 
them)  —that  we  feel  what  we  owe  him.  Look  at  one  of 
Mr.  Cruikshank's  works,  and  we  pronounce  him  an  ex- 
cellent humourist.  Look  at  all:  his  reputation  is  in- 
creased by  a  kind  of  geometrical  progression ;  as  a  whole 
diamond  is  a  hundred  times  more  valuable  than  the 
hundred  splinters  into  which  it  might  be  broken  would 
be.  A  fine  rough  English  diamond  is  this  about  which 
we  have  been  writing. 


JOHN   LEECH'S   PICTURES   OF   LIFE 
AND    CHARACTER.^ 

WE,  who  can  recall  the  consulship  of  Plancus,  and 
quite  respectable,  old-fogeyfied  times,  remem- 
ber amongst  other  amusements  which  we  had  as  children 
the  pictures  at  which  we  were  permitted  to  look.  There 
was  Boydell's  Shakspeare,  black  and  ghastly  gallery  of 
murky  Opies,  glum  Northcotes,  straddling  Fuselis! 
there  were  Lear,  Oberon,  Hamlet,  with  starting  muscles, 
rolling  eyeballs,  and  long  pointing  quivering  fingers; 
there  w^as  little  Prince  Arthur  (Northcote)  crying,  in 
white  satin,  and  bidding  good  Hubert  not  put  out  his 
eyes ;  there  was  Hubert  crying ;  there  was  httle  Rutland 
being  run  through  the  poor  little  body  by  bloody  Clif- 
ford; there  was  Cardinal  Beaufort  (Reynolds)  gnash- 
ing his  teeth,  and  grinning  and  howling  demoniacally  on 
his  deathbed  (a  picture  frightful  to  the  present  day)  ; 
there  was  Lady  Hamilton  (Romney)  waving  a  torch, 
and  dancing  before  a  black  background,— a  melancholy 
museum  indeed.  Smirke's  delightful  "  Seven  Ages  " 
only  fitfully  relieved  its  general  gloom.  We  did  not 
like  to  inspect  it  unless  the  elders  were  present,  and 
plenty  of  lights  and  company  were  in  the  room. 

Cheerful  relatives  used  to  treat  us  to  Miss  Linwood's. 
Let  the  children  of  the  present  generation  thank  their 
stars  that  tragedy  is  put  out  of  their  way.     Miss  Lin- 

*  Reprinted  from  the  Quarterly  Review,  No.  191,  Dec.  1854. 
479 


480  JOHN  LEECH'S  PICTURES 

wood's  was  worsted-work.  Your  grandmother  or 
grandaimts  took  you  there,  and  said  the  pictures  were 
admirable.  You  saw  "  the  Woodman  "  in  worsted,  with 
his  axe  and  dog,  trampHng  through  the  snow;  the  snow 
bitter  cold  to  look  at,  the  woodman's  pipe  wonderful: 
a  gloomy  piece,  that  made  you  shudder.  There  were 
large  dingy  pictures  of  woollen  martyrs,  and  scowling 
warriors  with  limbs  strongly  knitted;  there  was  espe- 
cially, at  the  end  of  a  black  passage,  a  den  of  lions,  that 
would  frighten  any  boy  not  born  in  Africa,  or  Exeter 
'Change,  and  accustomed  to  them. 

Another  exhibition  used  to  be  West's  Gallery,  where 
the  pleasing  figures  of  Lazarus  in  his  grave-clothes,  and 
Death  on  the  pale  horse,  used  to  impress  us  children. 
The  tombs  of  Westminster  Abbey,  the  vaults  at  St. 
Paul's,  the  men  in  armour  at  the  Tower,  frowning  fero- 
ciously out  of  their  helmets,  and  wielding  their  dread- 
ful swords;  that  superhuman  Queen  Elizabeth  at  the 
end  of  the  room,  a  livid  sovereign  with  glass  eyes,  a  ruff, 
and  a  dirty  satin  petticoat,  riding  a  horse  covered  with 
steel:  who  does  not  remember  these  sights  in  London  in 
the  consulship  of  Plancus?  and  the  wax-work  in  Fleet 
Street,  not  like  that  of  Madame  Tussaud's,  whose 
chamber  of  death  is  gay  and  brilliant;  but  a  nice  old 
gloomy  waxwork,  full  of  murderers;  and  as  a  chief  at- 
traction, the  Dead  Baby  and  the  Princess  Charlotte 
lying  in  state? 

Our  story-books  had  no  pictures  in  them  for  the  most 
part.  Frank  (dear  old  Frank!)  had  none;  nor  the 
"Parent's  Assistant;"  nor  the  "Evenings  at  Home;" 
nor  our  copy  of  the  '  Ami  des  Enfans:  "  there  were  a  few 
just  at  the  end  of  the  Spelling-Book;  besides  the  alle- 
gory at  the  beginning,  of  Education  leading  up  Youth 


JOHN  LEECH'S  PICTURES  481 

to  the  temple  of  Industry,  where  Dr.  Dilworth  and 
Professor  Walkinghame  stood  with  crowns  of  laurel. 
There  were,  we  say,  just  a  few  pictures  at  the  end  of  the 
Spelling-Book,  little  oval  grey  woodcuts  of  Bewick's, 
mostly  of  the  Wolf  and  the  Lamb,  the  Dog  and  the 
Shadow,  and  Brown,  Jones,  and  Robinson  with  long 
ringlets  and  little  tights;  but  for  pictures,  so  to  speak, 
what  had  we?  The  rough  old  woodblocks  in  the  old 
harlequin-backed  fairy-books  had  served  hundreds  of 
years;  before  our  Plancus,  in  the  time  of  Priscus  Plan- 
cus— in  Queen  Anne's  time,  who  knows?  We  were 
flogged  at  school;  we  were  fifty  boys  in  our  boarding- 
house,  and  had  to  wash  in  a  leaden  trough,  under  a  cis- 
tern, with  lumps  of  fat  yellow  soap  floating  about  in 
the  ice  and  water.  Are  our  sons  ever  flogged?  Have 
they  not  dressing-rooms,  hair-oil,  hip-baths,  and  Baden 
towels?  And  what  picture-books  the  young  villains  have ! 
What  have  these  children  done  that  they  should  be  so 
much  happier  than  we  were  ? 

We  had  the  "Arabian  Nights  "  and  Walter  Scott,  to 
be  sure.  Smirke's  illustrations  to  the  former  are  very 
fine.  We  did  not  know  how  good  they  were  then;  but 
w^e  doubt  whether  we  did  not  prefer  the  little  old  "  Min- 
iature Library  Nights"  with  frontispieces  by  Uwins; 
for  these  books  the  pictures  don't  count.  Every  boy  of 
imagination  does  his  own  pictures  to  Scott  and  the 
"Arabian  Nights"  best. 

Of  funny  pictures  there  were  none  especially  in- 
tended for  us  children.  There  was  Rowlandson's  "  Doc- 
tor Syntax : "  Doctor  Syntax,  in  a  fuzz-wig,  on  a  horse 
with  legs  like  sausages,  riding  races,  making  love,  frol- 
icking with  rosy  exuberant  damsels.  Those  pictures 
were  very  funny,  and  that  aquatinting  and  the  gay- 


482  JOHN  LEECH'S  PICTURES 

coloured  plates  very  pleasant  to  witness ;  but  if  we  could 
not  read  the  poem  in  those  days,  could  we  digest  it  in 
this  ?  Nevertheless,  apart  from  the  text  which  we  could 
not  master,  we  remember  Doctor  Syntax  pleasantly, 
like  those  cheerful  painted  hieroglyphics  in  the  Nineveh 
Court  at  Sydenham.  What  matter  for  the  arrow-head, 
illegible  stuff?  give  us  the  placid  grinning  kings,  twang- 
ing their  jolly  bows  over  their  rident  horses,  wounding 
those  good-humoured  enemies,  who  tumble  gaily  off  the 
towers,  or  drown  smiling,  in  the  dimpling  waters,  amidst 
the  anerithmon  gelasma  of  the  fish. 

After  Doctor  Syntax,  the  apparition  of  Corinthian 
Tom,  Jerry  Hawthorn,  and  the  facetious  Bob  Logic 
must  be  recorded— a  wondrous  history  indeed  theirs 
was!  When  the  future  student  of  our  manners  comes 
to  look  over  the  pictures  and  the  writing  of  these  queer 
volumes,  what  will  he  think  of  our  society,  customs,  and 
language  in  the  consulship  of  Plancus?  "  Corinthian," 
it  appears,  was  the  phrase  appHed  to  men  of  fashion  and 
ton  in  Plancus's  time:  they  were  the  briUiant  predeces- 
sors of  the  "  swell"  of  the  present  period— brilliant,  but 
somewhat  barbarous,  it  must  be  confessed.  The  Cor- 
inthians were  in  the  habit  of  drinking  a  great  deal  too 
much  in  Tom  Cribb's  parlour:  they  used  to  go  and  see 
"life"  in  the  gin-shops;  of  nights,  walking  home  (as 
well  as  they  could),  they  used  to  knock  down  "Char- 
ley's," poor  harmless  old  watchmen  with  lanterns, 
guardians  of  the  streets  of  Rome,  Planco  Consule. 
They  perpetrated  a  vast  deal  of  boxing;  they  put  on 
the  "mufflers"  in  Jackson's  rooms;  they  "sported  their 
prads"  in  the  Ring  in  the  Park;  they  attended  cock- 
fights, and  were  enlightened  patrons  of  dogs  and  de- 
stroyers of  rats.     Besides  these  sports,  the  delassemens 


JOHN  LEECH'S  PICTURES  483 

of  gentlemen  mixing  with  the  people,  our  patricians,  of 
course,  occasionally  enjoyed  the  society  of  their  own 
class.  What  a  wonderful  picture  that  used  to  be  of 
Corinthian  Tom  dancing  with  Corinthian  Kate  at  Al- 
mack's!  What  a  prodigious  dress  Kate  wore!  With 
what  graceful  abandon  the  pair  flung  their  arms  about 
as  they  swept  through  the  mazy  quadrille,  with  all  the 
noblemen  standing  round  in  their  stars  and  uniforms! 
You  may  still,  doubtless,  see  the  pictures  at  the  British 
Museum,  or  find  the  volumes  in  the  corner  of  some  old 
country-house  library.  You  are  led  to  suppose  that  the 
English  aristocracy  of  1820  did  dance  and  caper  in  that 
way,  and  box  and  drink  at  Tom  Cribb's,  and  knock  down 
watchmen;  and  the  children  of  to-day,  turning  to  their 
elders,  may  say,  "Grandmamma,  did  you  wear  such  a 
dress  as  that  when  you  danced  at  Almack's  ?  There  was 
very  little  of  it,  grandmamma.  Did  grandpapa  kill 
many  watchmen  when  he  was  a  young  man,  and  fre- 
quent thieves'  gin-shops,  cock-fights,  and  the  ring,  be- 
fore you  married  him?  Did  he  use  to  talk  the  extraor- 
dinaiy  slang  and  jargon  which  is  printed  in  this  book? 
He  is  very  much  changed.  He  seems  a  gentlemanly  old 
boy  enough  now." 

In  the  above-named  consulate,  when  we  had  grand- 
fathers alive,  there  would  be  in  the  old  gentleman's  H- 
brary  in  the  country  two  or  three  old  mottled  portfolios, 
or  great  swollen  scrap-books  of  blue  paper,  full  of  the 
comic  prints  of  grandpapa's  time,  ere  Plancus  ever  had 
the  fasces  borne  before  him.  These  prints  were  signed 
Gilray,  Bunbury,  Bowlandson,  Woodward,  and  some 
actually  George  Cruikshank— for  George  is  a  veteran 
now,  and  he  took  the  etching  needle  in  hand  as  a  child. 
He  caricatured  "Boney,"  borrowing  not  a  little  from 


484  JOHN  LEECH'S   PICTURES 

Gilray  in  his  first  puerile  efforts.  He  drew  Louis 
XVIII.  trying  on  Boney's  boots.  Before  the  century 
was  actually  in  its  teens  we  believe  that  George  Cruik- 
shank  was  amusing  the  public. 

In  those  great  coloured  prints  in  our  grandfathers' 
portfolios  in  the  library,  and  in  some  other  apartments 
of  the  house,  where  the  caricatures  used  to  be  pasted  in 
those  days,  we  found  things  quite  beyond  our  compre- 
hension. Boney  was  represented  as  a  fierce  dwarf,  with 
goggle  eyes,  a  huge  laced  hat  and  tricoloured  plume,  a 
crooked  sabre,  reeking  with  blood:  a  little  demon  revel- 
ling in  lust,  murder,  massacre.  John  Bull  was  shown 
kicking  him  a  good  deal:  indeed  he  was  prodigiously 
kicked  all  through  that  series  of  pictures;  by  Sidney 
Smith  and  our  brave  alHes  the  gallant  Turks;  by  the 
excellent  and  patriotic  Spaniards;  by  the  amiable  and 
indignant  Russians,— all  nations  had  boots  at  the  ser- 
vice of  poor  Master  Boney.  How  Pitt  used  to  defy 
him!  How  good  old  George,  King  of  Brobdingnag, 
laughed  at  Gulliver-Boney,  saihng  about  in  his  tank  to 
make  sport  for  their  Majesties!  This  little  fiend,  this 
beggar's  brat,  cowardly,  murderous,  and  atheistic  as  he 
was  (we  remember,  in  those  old  portfohos,  pictures  rep- 
resenting Boney  and  his  family  in  rags,  gnawing  raw 
bones  in  a  Corsican  hut;  Boney  murdering  the  sick  at 
Jaif  a ;  Boney  with  a  hookah  and  a  large  turban,  having 
adopted  the  Turkish  religion,  &c.)— this  Corsican  mon- 
ster, nevertheless,  had  some  devoted  friends  in  England, 
according  to  the  Gilray  chronicle,— a  set  of  villains  who 
loved  atheism,  tyranny,  plunder,  and  wickedness  in  gen- 
eral, like  their  French  friend.  In  the  pictures  these 
men  were  all  represented  as  dwarfs,  like  their  ally.  The 
miscreants  got  into  power  at  one  time,  and,  if  we  re- 


JOHN   LEECH'S   PICTURES  485 

member  right,  were  called  the  Broad-backed  Adminis- 
tration. One  with  shaggy  eyebrows  and  a  bristly  beard, 
the  hirsute  ringleader  of  the  rascals,  was,  it  appears, 
called  Charles  James  Fox;  another  miscreant,  with  a 
blotched  countenance,  was  a  certain  Sheridan;  other 
imps  were  hight  Erskine,  Norfolk  (Jockey  of),  Moira, 
Henry  Petty.  As  in  our  childish  innocence  we  used  to 
look  at  these  demons,  now  sprawling  and  tipsy  in  their 
cups;  now  scaling  heaven,  from  which  the  angelic  Pitt 
hurled  them  down;  now  cursing  the  light  (their  atrocious 
ringleader  Fox  was  represented  with  hairy  cloven  feet, 
and  a  tail  and  horns)  ;  now  kissing  Boney's  boot,  but 
inevitably  discomfited  by  Pitt  and  the  other  good  an- 
gels: we  hated  these  vicious  wretches,  as  good  children 
should;  we  were  on  the  side  of  Virtue  and  Pitt  and 
Grandpapa.  But  if  our  sisters  wanted  to  look  at  the 
portfolios,  the  good  old  grandfather  used  to  hesitate. 
There  were  some  prints  among  them  very  odd  indeed; 
some  that  girls  could  not  understand;  some  that  boys, 
indeed,  had  best  not  see.  We  swiftly  turn  over  those 
prohibited  pages.  How  many  of  them  there  were  in  the 
wild,  coarse,  reckless,  ribald,  generous  book  of  old  Eng- 
lish humour ! 

How  savage  the  satire  was — how  fierce  the  assault — 
what  garbage  hurled  at  opponents — what  foul  blows 
were  hit— what  language  of  Bilhngsgate  flung!  Fancy 
a  party  in  a  country-house  now  looking  over  Wood- 
ward's f  acetise  or  some  of  the  Gilray  comicalities,  or  the 
slatternly  Saturnalia  of  Rowlandson!  Whilst  we  live 
we  must  laugh,  and  have  folks  to  make  us  laugh.  We 
cannot  afford  to  lose  Satyr  with  his  pipe  and  dances 
and  gambols.  But  we  have  washed,  combed,  clothed, 
and  taught  the  rogue  good  manners:  or  rather,  let  us 


486  JOHN  LEECH'S  PICTURES 

say,  he  has  learned  them  himself ;  for  he  is  of  nature  soft 
and  kindly,  and  he  has  put  aside  his  mad  pranks  and 
tipsy  habits;  and,  frolicsome  always,  has  become  gentle 
and  harmless,  smitten  into  shame  by  the  pure  presence 
of  our  women  and  the  sweet  confiding  smiles  of  our 
children.     Among  the  veterans,  the  old  pictorial  satir- 
ists, we  have  mentioned  the  famous  name  of  one  hu- 
mourous designer  who  is  still  alive  and  at  work.     Did 
we  not  see,  by  his  own  hand,  his  own  portrait  of  his  own 
famous  face,  and  whiskers,  in  the  Illustrated  London 
News  the  other  day?    There  was  a  print  in  that  paper 
of  an  assemblage  of  Teetotallers  in  "  Sadler's  Wells 
Theatre,"  and  we  straightway  recognized  the  old  Ro- 
man hand— the  old  Roman's  of  the  time  of  Plancus— 
George  Cruikshank's.    There  were  the  old  bonnets  and 
droll  faces  and  shoes,  and  short  trousers,  and  figures  of 
1 820  sure  enough.   And  there  was  George  ( who  has  taken 
to  the  water-doctrine,  as  all  the  world  knows)    hand- 
ing some  teetotalleresses  over  a  plank  to  the  table  where 
the  pledge  was  being  administered.     How  often  has 
George    drawn   that    picture    of  Cruikshank!     Where 
haven't  we  seen  it?    How  fine  it  was,  facing  the  effigy 
of    Mr.    Ainsworth    in    Ainsworth's    Magazine   when 
George  illustrated  that  periodical!     How  grand  and 
severe  he  stands  in  that  design  in  G.  C.'s  "  Omnibus," 
where  he  represents  himself  tonged  like  St.  Dunstan,  and 
tweaking  a  wretch  of  a  publisher  by  the  nose!     The 
collectors  of  George's  etchings— oh  the  charming  etch- 
ing!—oh  the  dear  old  "German  Popular  Tales!"— the 
capital  "Points  of  Humour"— the  dehghtful  "Phre- 
nology "  and  "  Scrap-books,"  of  the  good  time,  our  time 
— Plancus's  in  fact!— the  collectors  of  the   Georgian 
etchings,  we  say,  have  at  least  a  hundred  pictures  of  the 


JOHN   LEECH'S   PICTURES  487 

artist.  Why,  we  remember  him  in  his  favourite  Hes- 
sian boots  in  "  Tom  and  Jerry  "  itself;  and  in  woodcuts 
as  far  back  as  the  Queen's  trial.  He  has  rather  deserted 
satire  and  comedy  of  late  years,  having  turned  his  at- 
tention to  the  serious,  and  warlike,  and  sublime.  Having 
confessed  our  age  and  prejudices,  we  prefer  the  comic 
and  fanciful  to  the  historic,  romantic,  and  at  present 
didactic  George.  May  respect,  and  length  of  days,  and 
comfortable  repose  attend  the  brave,  honest,  kindly, 
pure-minded  artist,  humourist,  moralist !  It  was  he  first 
who  brought  Enghsh  pictorial  humour  and  children 
acquainted.  Our  young  people  and  their  fathers  and 
mothers  owe  him  many  a  pleasant  hour  and  harmless 
laugh.  Is  there  no  way  in  which  the  country  could  ac- 
knowledge the  long  services  and  brave  career  of  such  a 
friend  and  benefactor? 

Since  George's  time  humour  has  been  converted. 
Comus  and  his  wicked  satyrs  and  leering  fauns  have 
disappeared,  and  fled  into  the  lowest  haunts;  and 
Comus's  lady  (if  she  had  a  taste  for  humour,  which 
may  be  doubted)  might  take  up  our  funny  picture-books 
without  the  slightest  precautionary  squeamishness. 
What  can  be  purer  than  the  charming  fancies  of  Rich- 
ard Doyle?  In  all  Mr.  Punch's  huge  galleries  can't 
we  walk  as  safely  as  through  Miss  Pinkerton's  school- 
rooms? And  as  we  look  at  Mr.  Punch's  pictures,  at  the 
Illustrated  News  pictures,  at  all  the  pictures  in  the  book- 
shop windows  at  this  Christmas  season,  as  oldsters,  we 
feel  a  certain  pang  of  envy  against  the  youngsters— 
they  are  too  well  off.  Why  hadn't  we  picture-books? 
Why  were  we  flogged  so?  A  plague  on  the  lictors  and 
their  rods  in  the  time  of  Plancus! 

And  now,  after  this  rambling  preface,  we  are  ar- 


488  JOHN  LEECH'S  PICTURES 

rived  at  the  subject  in  hand— Mr.  John  Leech  and  his 
"  Pictures  of  Life  and  Character,"  in  the  collection  of 
Mr.  Punch.  This  book  is  better  than  j^lum-cake  at 
Christmas.  It  is  an  enduring  plum-cake,  which  you  maj^ 
eat  and  which  you  may  slice  and  deliver  to  your  friends ; 
and  to  which,  having  cut  it,  you  may  come  again  and 
welcome,  from  year's  end  to  year's  end.  In  the  frontis- 
jjiece  you  see  JNIr.  Punch  examining  the  pictures  in  his 
gallery— a  portly,  well-dressed,  middle-aged,  respect- 
able gentleman,  in  a  white  neckcloth,  and  a  polite  even- 
ing costume— smiling  in  a  very  bland  and  agreeable 
manner  upon  one  of  his  pleasant  drawings,  taken  out  of 
one  of  his  handsome  portfolios.  Mr.  Punch  has  very 
good  reason  to  smile  at  the  work  and  be  satisfied  with 
the  artist.  Mr.  Leech,  his  chief  contributor,  and  some 
kindred  humourists,  with  pencil  and  pen  have  served 
Mr.  Punch  admirably.  Time  was,  if  we  remember  Mr. 
P.'s  history  rightly,  that  he  did  not  wear  silk  stockings 
nor  well-made  clothes  (the  little  dorsal  irregularity  in 
his  figure  is  almost  an  ornament  now,  so  excellent  a 
tailor  has  he).  He  M^as  of  humble  beginnings.  It  is 
said  he  kept  a  ragged  little  booth,  which  he  put  up  at 
corners  of  streets;  associated  with  beadles,  policemen, 
his  own  ugly  wife  (whom  he  treated  most  scandalously) , 
and  persons  in  a  low  station  of  life;  earning  a  precari- 
ous livelihood  by  the  cracking  of  wild  jokes,  the  singing 
of  ribald  songs,  and  half -pence  extorted  from  passers- 
by.  He  is  the  Satyric  genius  we  spoke  of  anon:  he 
cracks  his  jokes  still,  for  satire  must  live;  but  he  is 
combed,  washed,  neatly  clothed,  and  perfectly  present- 
able. He  goes  into  the  very  best  company;  he  keeps  a 
stud  at  Melton;  he  has  a  moor  in  Scotland;  he  rides  in 
the  Park;  has  his  stall  at  the  Opera;  is  constantly  dining 


JOHN   LEECH'S   PICTURES  489 

out  at  clubs  and  in  private  society ;  and  goes  every  night 
in  the  season  to  balls  and  parties,  where  you  see  the 
most  beautiful  women  possible.  He  is  welcomed 
amongst  his  new  friends  the  great ;  though,  like  the  good 
old  English  gentleman  of  the  song,  he  does  not  forget 
the  small.  He  pats  the  heads  of  street  boys  and  girls; 
relishes  the  jokes  of  Jack  the  costermonger  and  Bob 
the  dustman;  good-naturedly  spies  out  Molly  the  cook 
flirting  with  policeman  X,  or  Mary  the  nursemaid  as 
she  listens  to  the  fascinating  guardsman.  He  used 
rather  to  laugh  at  guardsmen,  "plungers,"  and  other 
military  men ;  and  was  until  latter  days  very  contemptu- 
ous in  his  behaviour  towards  Frenchmen.  He  has  a 
natural  antipathy  to  pomp,  and  swagger,  and  fierce  de- 
meanour. But  now  that  the  guardsmen  are  gone  to 
war,  and  the  dandies  of  "The  Rag"— dandies  no  more 
—are  battling  like  heroes  at  Balaklava  and  Inkermann  ^ 
by  the  side  of  their  heroic  allies,  Mr.  Punch's  laughter 
is  changed  to  hearty  respect  and  enthusiasm.  It  is  not 
against  courage  and  honour  he  wars:  but  this  great 
moralist— must  it  be  owned?— has  some  popular  British 
prejudices,  and  these  led  him  in  peace  time  to  laugh  at 
soldiers  and  Frenchmen.  If  those  hulking  footmen 
who  accompanied  the  carriages  to  the  opening  of  Parlia- 
ment the  other  day,  would  form  a  plush  brigade,  wear 
only  gunpowder  in  their  hair,  and  strike  with  their  great 
canes  on  the  enemy,  Mr.  Punch  would  leave  off  laugh- 
ing at  Jeames,  who  meanwhile  remains  among  us,  to  all 
outward  appearance  regardless  of  satire,  and  calmly 
consuming  his  five  meals  per  diem.  Against  lawyers, 
beadles,  bishops  and  clergy,  and  authorities,  Mr.  Punch 
is  still  rather  bitter.    At  the  time  of  the  Papal  aggres- 

^  This  was  written  in  1854. 


490  JOHN  LEECH'S  PICTURES 

sion  he  was  prodigiously  angry;  and  one  of  the  chief 
misfortunes  which  happened  to  him  at  that  period 
was  that,  through  the  violent  opinions  which  he  ex- 
pressed regarding  the  Roman  Catholic  hierarchy,  he 
lost  the  invaluable  services,  the  graceful  pencil,  the 
harmless  wit,  the  charming  fancy  of  Mr.  Doyle.  An- 
other member  of  Mr.  Punch's  cabinet,  the  biographer 
of  Jeames,  the  author  of  the  "  Snob  Papers,"  resigned 
his  functions  on  account  of  Mr.  Punch's  assault  upon 
the  present  Emperor  of  the  French  nation,  whose  anger 
Jeames  thought  it  was  unpatriotic  to  arouse.  Mr. 
Punch  parted  with  these  contributors:  he  filled  their 
places  with  others  as  good.  The  boys  at  the  railroad 
stations  cried  Punch  just  as  cheerily,  and  sold  just  as 
many  numbers,  after  these  events  as  before. 

There  is  no  blinking  the  fact  that  in  Mr.  Punch's 
cabinet  John  Leech  is  the  right-hand  man.  Fancy  a 
number  of  Punch  without  Leech's  pictures!  What 
would  you  give  for  it?  The  learned  gentlemen  who 
write  the  work  must  feel  that,  without  him,  it  were  as 
well  left  alone.  Look  at  the  rivals  whom  the  popularity 
of  Punch  has  brought  into  the  field;  the  direct  imitators 
of  Mr.  Leech's  manner— the  artists  with  a  manner  of 
their  own— how  inferior  their  pencils  are  to  his  in  hu- 
mour, in  depicting  the  public  manners,  in  arresting, 
amusing  the  nation.  The  truth,  the  strength,  the  free 
vigour,  the  kind  humour,  the  John  Bull  pluck  and  spirit 
of  that  hand  are  approached  by  no  competitor.  With 
what  dexterity  he  draws  a  horse,  a  woman,  a  child !  He 
feels  them  all,  so  to  speak,  like  a  man.  What  plump 
young  beauties  those  are  with  which  Mr.  Punch's  chief 
contributor  supplies  the  old  gentleman's  pictorial  harem ! 
What  famous  thews  and  sinews  ]\Ir.  Punch's  horses 


JOHN  LEECH'S  PICTURES  491 

have,  and  how  Briggs,  on  the  back  of  them,  scampers 
across  country!  You  see  youth,  strength,  enjoyment, 
manhness  in  those  drawings,  and  in  none  more  so,  to  our 
thinking,  than  in  the  hundi'cd  pictures  of  children  which 
this  artist  loves  to  design.  Like  a  brave,  hearty,  good- 
natured  Briton,  he  becomes  quite  soft  and  tender  with 
the  little  creatures,  pats  gently  their  little  golden  heads, 
and  watches  with  unfailing  pleasure  their  ways,  their 
sports,  their  jokes,  laughter,  caresses.  Enfans  terribles 
come  home  from  Eton;  young  Miss  practising  her  first 
flirtation;  poor  little  ragged  Polly  making  dirt-pies  in 
the  gutter,  or  staggering  under  the  weight  of  Jacky, 
her  nursechild,  who  is  as  big  as  herself — all  these  little 
ones,  patrician  and  plebeian,  meet  with  kindness  from 
this  kind  heart,  and  are  watched  with  curious  nicety  by 
this  amiable  observer. 

We  remember,  in  one  of  those  ancient  Gilray  port- 
folios, a  print  which  used  to  cause  a  sort  of  terror  in  us 
youthful  spectators,  and  in  which  the  Prince  of  Wales 
(his  Royal  Highness  was  a  Foxite  then)  was  repre- 
sented as  sitting  alone  in  a  magnificent  hall  after  a 
voluptuous  meal,  and  using  a  great  steel  fork  in  the 
guise  of  a  toothpick.  Fancy  the  first  young  gentleman 
living  employing  such  a  weapon  in  such  a  way!  The 
most  elegant  Prince  of  Europe  engaged  with  a  two- 
pronged  iron  fork— the  heir  of  Britannia  with  a  hident! 
The  man  of  genius  who  drew  that  picture  saw  little  of 
the  society  which  he  satirised  and  amused.  Gilray 
watched  public  characters  as  they  walked  by  the  shop  in 
St.  James's  Street,  or  passed  through  the  lobby  of  the 
House  of  Commons.  His  studio  was  a  garret,  or  little 
better;  his  place  of  amusement  a  tavern-parlour,  where 
his  club  held  its  nightly  sittings  over  their  pipes  and 


492  JOHN  LEECH'S  PICTURES 

sanded  floor.  You  could  not  have  society  represented 
by  men  to  whom  it  was  not  famihar.  When  Gavarni 
came  to  England  a  few  years  since— one  of  the  wittiest 
of  men,  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  dexterous  of 
draughtsmen — he  published  a  book  of  "  Les  Anglais," 
and  his  Anglais  were  all  Frenchmen.  The  eye,  so  keen 
and  so  long  practised  to  observe  Parisian  life,  could  not 
perceive  English  character.  A  social  painter  must  be 
of  the  world  which  he  dej)icts,  and  native  to  the  manners 
which  he  portrays. 

Now,  any  one  who  looks  over  Mr.  Leech's  portfolio 
must  see  that  the  social  pictures  w^hich  he  gives  us  are 
authentic.  What  comfortable  little  drawing-rooms  and 
dining-rooms,  what  snug  libraries  we  enter;  what  fine 
young-gentlemanly  wags  they  are,  those  beautiful  little 
dandies  who  wake  up  gouty  old  grandpapa  to  ring  the 
bell;  who  decline  aunt's  pudding  and  custards,  saying 
that  they  will  reserve  themselves  for  an  anchovy  toast 
with  the  claret;  who  talk  together  in  ball-room  doors, 
where  Fred  whispers  Charley — pointing  to  a  dear  little 
partner  seven  years  old— "My  dear  Charley,  she  has 
very  much  gone  oiF ;  you  should  have  seen  that  girl  last 
season!"  Look  well  at  everything  appertaining  to  the 
economy  of  the  famous  Mr.  Briggs:  how  snug,  quiet, 
appropriate  all  the  appointments  are!  What  a  com- 
fortable, neat,  clean,  middle-class  house  Briggs's  is  (in 
the  Bays  water  suburb  of  London,  we  should  guess  from 
the  sketches  of  the  surrounding  scenery)  !  What  a  good 
stable  he  has,  with  a  loose  box  for  those  celebrated 
hunters  which  he  rides!  How  pleasant,  clean,  and 
warm  his  breakfast-table  looks !  What  a  trim  little  maid 
brings  in  the  top-boots  which  horrify  INIrs.  B !  What  a 
snug  dressing-room  he  has,  complete  in  all  its  appoint- 


JOHN  LEECH'S  PICTURES  403 

merits,  and  in  which  he  appears  trying  on  the  dehghtfiil 
hunting-cap  which  IMrs.  Briggs  flings  into  the  fire! 
How  cosy  all  the  Briggs  party  seem  in  their  dining- 
room:  Briggs  reading  a  Treatise  on  Dog-breaking  by 
a  lamp;  Mamma  and  Grannie  with  their  respective 
needleworks ;  the  children  clustering  round  a  great  book 
of  prints— a  great  book  of  prints  such  as  this  before  us, 
which,  at  this  season,  must  make  thousands  of  children 
happy  by  as  many  firesides !  The  inner  life  of  all  these 
people  is  represented:  Leech  draws  them  as  naturally 
as  Teniers  depicts  Dutch  boors,  or  Morland  pigs  and 
stables.  It  is  your  house  and  mine:  we  are  looking  at 
everybody's  family  circle.  Our  boys  coming  from 
school  give  themselves  such  airs,  the  young  scapegraces ! 
our  girls,  going  to  parties,  are  so  tricked  out  by  fond 
mammas— a  social  history  of  London  in  the  middle 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  As  such,  future  students — 
lucky  they  to  have  a  book  so  pleasant — will  regard  these 
pages:  even  the  mutations  of  fashion  they  may  follow 
here  if  they  be  so  inclined.  Mr.  Leech  has  as  fine  an  eye 
for  tailory  and  millinery  as  for  horse-flesh.  How  they 
change  those  cloaks  and  bonnets !  How  we  have  to  pay 
milliners'  bills  from  year  to  year!  Where  are  those 
prodigious  chatelaines  of  1850  which  no  lady  could  be 
without?  Where  those  charming  waistcoats,  those 
"  stunning  "  waistcoats,  which  our  young  girls  used  to 
wear  a  few  brief  seasons  back,  and  which  cause  'Gus, 
in  the  sweet  little  sketch  of  "  La  Mode,"  to  ask  Ellen 
for  her  tailor's  address.  'Gus  is  a  young  warrior  by  this 
time,  very  likely  facing  the  enemy  at  Inkermann;  and 
pretty  Ellen,  and  that  love  of  a  sister  of  hers,  are  mar- 
ried and  happy,  let  us  hope,  superintending  one  of  those 
delightful  nursery  scenes  which  our  artist  depicts  with 


494  JOHN  LEECH'S  PICTURES 

such  tender  humour.  Fortunate  artist,  indeed!  You 
see  he  must  have  been  bred  at  a  good  pubhc  school ;  that 
he  has  ridden  many  a  good  horse  in  his  day;  paid,  no 
doubt,  out  of  his  own  purse  for  the  originals  of  some  of 
those  lovely  caps  and  bonnets;  and  watched  paternally 
the  ways,  smiles,  frolics,  and  slumbers  of  his  favourite 
little  people. 

As  you  look  at  the  drawings,  secrets  come  out  of  them, 
—private  jokes,  as  it  were,  imparted  to  you  by  the 
author  for  your  special  delectation.  How  remarkably, 
for  instance,  has  Mr.  Leech  observed  the  hair-dressers 
of  the  present  age!  Look  at  "Mr.  Tongs,"  whom  that 
hideous  old  bald  woman,  who  ties  on  her  bonnet  at  the 
glass,  informs  that  "  she  has  used  the  whole  bottle  of 
Balm  of  California,  but  her  hair  comes  off  yet."  You 
can  see  the  bear's-grease  not  only  on  Tongs'  head  but 
on  his  hands,  which  he  is  clapping  clammily  together. 
Remark  him  who  is  telling  his  client  "  there  is  cholera  in 
the  hair;"  and  that  lucky  rogue  whom  the  young  lady 
bids  to  cut  off  "a  long  thick  piece"— for  somebody, 
doubtless.  All  these  men  are  different,  and  delight- 
fully natural  and  absurd.  Why  should  hair-dressing 
be  an  absurd  profession? 

The  amateur  will  remark  what  an  excellent  part  hands 
play  in  Mr.  Leech's  pieces:  his  admirable  actors  use 
them  with  perfect  naturalness.  Look  at  Betty,  putting 
the  urn  down;  at  cook,  laying  her  hands  on  the  kitchen 
table,  whilst  her  policeman  grumbles  at  the  cold  meat. 
They  are  cook's  and  housemaid's  hands  without  mis- 
take, and  not  without  a  certain  beauty  too.  The  bald 
old  lady,  who  is  tying  her  bonnet  at  Tongs',  has  hands 
which  you  see  are  trembling.  Watch  the  fingers  of  the 
two  old  harridans  who  are  talking  scandal:  for  what 
long  years  past  they  have  pointed  out  holes  in  their 


JOHN  LEECH'S  PICTURES  495 

neighbours'  dresses  and  mud  on  their  flounces.  "  Here's 
a  go!  I've  lost  my  diamond  ring."  As  the  dustman 
utters  this  pathetic  cry,  and  looks  at  his  hand,  you  burst 
out  laughing.  These  are  among  the  little  points  of 
humour.  One  could  indicate  hundreds  of  such  as  one 
turns  over  the  pleasant  pages. 

There  is  a  little  snob  or  gent,  whom  we  all  of  us  know, 
who  wears  little  tufts  on  his  little  chin,  outrageous  pins 
and  pantaloons,  smokes  cigars  on  tobacconists'  counters, 
sucks  his  cane  in  the  streets,  struts  about,  with  ^Irs.  Snob 
and  the  baby  (Mrs.  S.  an  immense  w^oman,  whom 
Snob  nevertheless  bullies),  who  is  a  favourite  abomina- 
tion of  Leech,  and  pursued  by  that  savage  humourist 
into  a  thousand  of  his  haunts.  There  he  is,  choosing 
waistcoats  at  the  tailor's— such  waistcoats!  Yonder  he 
is  giving  a  shilling  to  the  sweeper  who  calls  him  "  Cap- 
ting;"  now  he  is  offering  a  paletot  to  a  huge  giant  who 
is  going  out  in  the  rain.  They  don't  know  their  own 
pictures,  very  likely;  if  they  did,  they  would  have  a 
meeting,  and  thirty  or  forty  of  them  would  be  deputed 
to  thrash  Mr.  Leech.  One  feels  a  pity  for  the  poor  little 
bucks.  In  a  minute  or  two,  when  we  close  this  discourse 
and  walk  the  streets,  we  shall  see  a  dozen  such. 

Ere  we  shut  the  desk  up,  just  one  word  to  point  out 
to  the  unwary  specially  to  note  the  backgrounds  of 
landscapes  in  Leech's  drawings— homely  drawings  of 
moor  and  wood,  and  seashore  and  London  street— the 
scenes  of  his  little  dramas.  They  are  as  excellently  true 
to  nature  as  the  actors  themselves;  our  respect  for  the 
genius  and  humour  which  invented  both  increases  as  we 
look  and  look  again  at  the  designs.  May  we  have  more 
of  them;  more  pleasant  Christmas  volumes,  over  which 
we  and  our  children  can  laugh  together.  Can  we  have 
too  much  of  truth,  and  fun,  and  beauty,  and  kindness? 


^         fcOAN  DEPT 


"••-SS'ii." 


y   C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


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